


Dragon’s Breath

by Bi-Ocelot (Bi_Ocelot)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alex and Steve are best friends, All triggers are noted at the beginning of each chapter, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Imagine minecraft but heavily modded, Light Horror, Magic, Other, Sword Fighting, Updates usually monthly, medieval weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 62,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bi_Ocelot/pseuds/Bi-Ocelot
Summary: The world is teeters between peace and war as darkness rises from the deep and enemies unearthed at every turn. After Steve accidentally lets loose a chain of events that can only lead to destruction, he and Alex must uncover secrets that should have stayed buried. From old wounds reopened to new bonds made, these survivors must learn quickly, or face a fate worse than death...
Comments: 60
Kudos: 45





	1. The Release

**This chapter was edited on 6/20/2020**

_ Content Warning: This story contains swearing and descriptions of violence and blood, mention of severe wounds, and light consumption of alcohol. Read at your own discretion. _

...

Chapter I: The Release

…

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Well… Steven sure hoped for a comparison. The young man and avid miner was trapped in a cave with a horrid blizzard raging outside. The thoughts of sunshine and warm breezes only fueled the disgruntlement. The door that sealed the entrance was frozen shut and through the tiny barred window was an icy hell that packed against it, trapping the man inside the cave. Even better, the cave wasn't a good mining spot as it was an actual ancient crypt anyways.

Then again, necrorite weren't all that common either. And ancient crypts were usually the best way to find the mineral that seemed to only grow on long-dead calcified corpses. As horrifying as it sounds.

Steven glanced around the small room he was currently trapped in: a boxed off entrance with barren bunk-bed frames lining the far walls, a singular bed on the other side, a crafting station, and a pair of smelting furnaces. If the old man from the mountain village was right, he could find a bit of iron to fix that crumbling anvil in town for the blacksmith. 

His feet shuffled on the dusty floor, discolored stone weathered from years of feet trampling its path. The walls and ceiling seem to be in the same state, smoothed and lightly bumpy as he grazed his calloused fingers across the cold dark stone.

Another wail from yonder the door, a howl that begged to crawl into the small room. Infecting the area with its frozen body and a goal to claim any inhabitants by means of hypothermia. Steven shuddered, rubbing his goosebump covered arms as a breeze whisked in and bit into his skin. The miner took careful steps beyond the second door out of the safe house. 

Another station, cold, damp, and wide. A tunnel lined with shelves and dotted with dozens of chests and lockers that lead to a light grey iron door that the very sight seemed to force something to crawl up his spine. Rusted spare pickaxes hung on the walls, termite eaten torches scattered in the equally in disrepair chests.

It was a short hall full of supplies. The walls were glittery in ice from what Steven could see in the hall. Strange, but he's seen stranger.

He glanced around again, popping chests and sifting through old tools.

One chest popped with a plume of shimmering dust. Steven squinted and recoiled at the sudden light. Rusted silver lamps encasing a carved chunk of a nether native mineral. Rare and ultimately forgotten in origin as the rifts that lead to the hell-world were destroyed long before his time. Something about trapping an evil spirit thing.

But these are the real deal if he knew what he was talking about. But he concluded that these were Glowstone lamps, something Steven had never seen ever on his own.

Steven leaned down and pulled each lantern from its resting spot. He's read descriptions and seen drawings of the stone. But never had he encountered one before. Well, except for that one geology museum but the quantity was just utterly sad compared to a single lamp that was fairly grasped within Steven's hand. But the subtle shimmers, the dancing flecks every time it moved, the radiance of the hell-born stone.

The mineral could rival the warrior’s diamond in beauty and worth, even the magic imbued black diamond in much larger quantities.

Steven shook his head. Focus man! 

He shut the chest closed and stuffed one of the lamps into his satchel and pulled another one into his grasp. Steven felt a sensation graze his back again, like the tips of fingers delicately grazing the fibers of his shirt. He whipped around holding an iron pickaxe in a defensive stance, swinging at the air.

Nothing.

But that iron door at the end of the hall.

"It's just the thought of the burials. It's just the nerves of spelunking in a crypt. I'm just being paranoid" Steven muttered audibly to himself.

Yeah… paranoid… that could explain everything, why bother poking around an old crypt that very well could be housing some powerful angry spirits, or a legendary artifact that could end the world, or maybe a mix of that.

The daily troubles of the adventurer, eh?

A once over in his bag again, and he pushed forward to the solid gate. The terrifying strong door. The gateway to a bunch of long-dead calcified bodies and supposedly a ground of miner's last stroke of bad luck. Why did he insist Alex not go with him?

'Stop! Don't have thoughts like that. It'll only make it worse.’ Alex would have kicked the living heck out of whatever looked at her weird. From a cool rock formation to probably a priceless artifact, she knows how to keep herself sane.

Steven flicked the switch and the door painfully squealed. Gears turning and hissing inside the walls. The door shuddered. Quietly creaking. It slammed open with a Crash! Steven stumbled back a few steps as the dust hit his face. Swirling balls of debris that floated down towards the deepening crypt.

"Damn." He coughed out.

Up ahead was a warm glowing light down into the belly of the crypt. Hopefully, these new lanterns will only be spares then.

...

It felt like hours… nothing but shelves of embalmed skeletons, strange forever-glowing lanterns, and irregular holes that were once veins of ores and minerals that long have been cleared out. But Steven couldn't push back the fact that every tunnel was filled with priceless artifacts and spectacular frescos and art. Almost a crime to disturb such priceless relics no matter how much he wanted to study the weathered crafts and beautiful architecture of the tools buried with their previous owners.

By morals... and the actual law.

Upon each niche in the wall, paintings depicting an event that pertained to these forgotten people and how they were sent to these shelved graves. Many with simple portraits with the deceased and their master craft, few with happy drunken celebrations, and others a bloody gruesome death. Every time he passed one he couldn't help but forget that he was here to mine, not a history lesson.

It was tunnels, upon hallways, upon rooms, upon grand caverns of this. Walls lined with burial shelves and faded plaques with an ancient lexicon. Cave dwelling fauna radiated with life as vine clung to the ceiling growing taller with every room. Strange and pompous mushrooms radiated glowing auras that outlined the path deeper into the curious crypt.

The stone soon changed from the cold grey to a warm and crusty orange sandy color and texture. A dyed plaster stuck to the walls and cracked over the years. The lamps never stopped as the hallway kept moving ever downward and downward. A small slope with walls becoming more like the color that illuminated it. Deep saturated oranges and reds. And the hallway grew narrow once again, as almost arms width.

But something else was going on as the hall grew cramped. The ceiling lowered to about a foot over Steven's head, (who was easily over six feet in height).

It hit him suddenly like a ravager at full speed.

It was intense, the air thinned and mist blew in front of Steven's face with every breath. Fractals of ice, spreading like veins from a central point splattered on the walls. Each step they occurred more and more. The stale air felt like the blizzard above, water dripping on his bare hands like barely melted ice. It was humid a few steps ago. Warm even from the glow. Even the poor frescos had a glaze from the ice that covered the walls.

Steven hugged his cloak closer to himself. When did it get this cold? He felt cold but at the same time not. There was mist forming around his mouth yet it felt no worse than a chilly breeze. Something was clearly afoot as the fog rolled around his heels at the dip in the hallway; where the path no longer sloped down and became flat and winding side to side.

In the short distance, Steven saw two indents in the tunnel. But not like the splits in the tunnel he passed. It's two small alcoves the closer he drew. But there was something different about them. On one side, the floor was whiter and sleeker, cared for. The other was cracked and dirtied and in immense despair. The walls of the tiny arch of the nice side seemed to be a rotted gold leaf with indents meant for precious stones.

Steven turned to the other side as it's barren and distressed as if it was ripped from its carvings. But it was these frescos that were different. One was pristine while the other was torn, cracked, and destroyed ultimately no image could even be imagined from the scruffs and demolished wall.

Turning on his heels, Steven cocked his head as he took careful steps to the pristine art piece behind him. There seems to be a change in elevation, like for a table or offering altar that did not exist. Strange. The people that live here aren't religious, though maybe the people that lived here once before. But… Steven looked up and stared at his reflection in the icy glaze. A large portrait was behind the ice.

The ice seemed to melt away the longer he stared. It was like looking at a fractal mirror. But the eyes… It appears that the gemstones in place of the irises were stolen, soulless, and empty. An outline of white and grey indents from the stone. The shape was an odd one, the indents were in the shape of a four-pointed star.

He peered closer at the painting.

Steven shuddered as a breeze clawed down his back and bit into the exposed nape of his neck. Creepy. The fresco seemed to mirror his likeness… Steven shook his head again as he stepped away, the chill receding from his shoulders.

Misty swirls blew through Steven's nose as he sighed and pushed away, he gave a glance at the mirrored alcove before moving on.

The crypt's lights began to dim the more he pushed on. And suddenly… the path went straight up into a staircase. The lanterns progressively got a change in brilliance. They seemed to be suppressed in the amount of glow they gave. Tracing fingers against the rough orange-sandy stone, Steven followed the path through the slightly darker.

The stairs proceeded up into a darkness that seemed uncharacteristic of the tomb. Steven looked around the frame of the stairway before eyes settled on a deep black crystal peeking out from one of the shelves. The crystals are thin and long as they grew from their point of spawn. It clicked. He had completely forgotten about mining since he entered the crypt. The Necrorite was stemming from a calcified skull from a skeleton slumped against the wall. The gem was large, bigger than his hand as it was jutting out of the skull’s right eye hole.

Must have taken at least fifty years of rotting biological matter, mildew, and moisture for it to increase to that size.

Then thoughts swam back to the man at the village. The mine had been abandoned after a great disaster deep in the stone walls of the crypt. The fatal bad luck of the miner. The man recalled the mine going empty around his sixth birthday as the man's brother supposedly never came home…

Batting away the small anecdote from the tavern, Steven pulled a lamp from his bag. Tapping the stone, it grew brighter as whatever suppressed the rest didn’t do it to the one in his hand.

Steven stepped towards the stairs as his hand went past the door the lamp… did it crackle?

'crick… cr-rack…crack!' The stone shuddered.

"The stone's making noise… I don't think it's supposed to do this…" He declared to himself, inching the crackling lantern away from his face.

The stone suddenly shattered in a burst of light. Steven winced and jutted the lamp away at arm’s length. But… no pain? No shards digging into his flesh. No toxic powder filtering through his nose. Steven peeked one indigo eye open.

The glowing stone was still intact but a large colored crack split the stone in two. Then it cracked again. To his wonder, the stone seemed to be changing color, not breaking to bits. The warm radiance was crackling and shattering into a warm purple hue like that of a royal robe until the last piece of gold faded. The lantern's light blended into the sparkling luminesce.

That's strange. Never in his life had he ever seen or heard of a purple glowstone. Or glowstone that could change color in the first place. But the material was rare and hardly any tomes exist on its subject. Though many of the sensitive magic users claim that the glowing material was very reactive and sensitive to fluctuations in magic auras. So there's that.

But those deep indigo eyes widened at the spectacle. The new magenta radiance reflected onto his tan skin. He carefully inched the lamp closer to him to peer at the purple lamp. Steven’s focus trailed back to the staircase and the murky darkness it led up to.

The orange-sandy plaster ended at the staircase and changed to intricate carvings on cold plain stone. Mini icicles forming on the undersides of the decorative shelves.

The stairs were slick with ice as his cloak trailed behind him. Fingers tracing the walls as the lantern was held arm’s length into the darkness. Then came a shrouded hallway. So dark not even the lantern could penetrate the deep shadows lurking around him.

Steven cautiously tiptoed down the corridor, fearing whatever he may encounter in the sudden darkness. But not a sound came. No rattle of a reanimated skeleton, to the mournful moan of the living dead. Not even a gurgle of an End-dwelling humanoid.

Just silence.

Peaceful, unnerving silence.

The hallway split into three as the forward-facing corridor only widened while the other two broke left and right expectedly. The hallway to the right was Steven's first choice, but getting only a few meters deep to find a landslide with a few skeleton bones sticking out from the ancient debris. Some still had their picks in hand. Old fellow miners who had hit the unlucky strike. Probably what the old man had told him a while back.

Steven knelt before the mound and gave a silent prayer, showing respect and good wishing to any spirits bound to these forgotten and improperly buried corpses. Respect to old and fellow miners, willing to risk their lives for materials to aid those consumers who will buy them.

A feeling of serenity passed through his chest.

"Blessings, by whoever above may lift your souls to a better place. May the aether watch you.” Steven whispered as he backed away from the mound.

Never turn your back on an unblessed grave. Adventurer’s superstition passed down from wandering adventurer to apprentice. Yet not a single bone twitched or moved. No shuddering or clanking. Just silence as Steven neared the end of the hallway. Steven's eyes darted from either side before coming to a conclusion.

So left path it is then.

...

This hall was different. Tattered tapestries somehow remained hung on the walls yet their artistry long faded, moth-eaten, and frayed. Carvings of trees and gardens passed Steven in his pursuit of curiosity. His lantern showed graffiti of runes in a line across the lower part of the walls in decoration. Mythic era writing in the way the runes exist in perfect geometry of squares, triangles, and straight lines. He was trailing into an endless path of this.

He recognized a few symbols translating the best as some magic ritual shortly after a great calamity. Something like that.

Soaking in every detail and carving of this perfectly preserved specimen. Then, Steven stumbled into the doorway of the second chamber, he wasn't exactly aware of the door. As he peered inside behind the door-frame, narrow-tall boxes lined in rows that framed the path forward to… something.

Shelves by the look of it.

Further in the room, boxes turned to ruined books that lined the walls as reminisce of a carpet strewn on the floor. Lifting his lamp, its magenta glimmer unearthed a table. Upon closer inspection, the carvings resembled that of twirling grapevines and feathered birds in its dark wood.

A thick layer of dust resided, centuries-old, and practically solidified. A cracked granite table top sported some objects of interest as the carpet, long and thin, trailed all the way from the archway to the table. Behind the table was an elegant chair, and stacks of undisturbed books and scrolls.

Steven rounded the table and brought the lamp onto the desk surface. He nudged the chair to the side and pushed a layer of dust off the surface. In the lamplight, a few elegantly carved vases, and a single dark wood black box sat upon the surface. He could see his reflection in the polish of the sun wooden box.

Dark and rich, gold filigree curled at the corners and shaped the latch that held the box closed. 

Curiosity got the better of him.

Gingerly, Steven guided the box closer to him and flicked the latch open. The lamp was pulled closer. The faint white shine reflected into Steven's eyes as they widened in excitement.

Two diamonds. Two flawless diamonds. Two flawless diamonds carved expertly into two stars with four points. Something made for the background of a compass. They were small and delicate, no bigger than two or three centimeters big. But they held an aura he couldn't explain. The faintly shined as fractals projected onto his face.

Not even the deep magenta of the strange glowstone lamp corrupted the pure white clarity on the gleam of the diamond.

Steven slowly inched a finger closer, the gleaming precious gems entrancing his mind. Blurring everything around the vicinity. All focus in the room was trained on those two sparkling pure gems. Never had he ever seen diamonds so white and clear. Right as a finger was about to graze the surface, a feeling shot up his spine. There it is again, the biting chill harassing his bare skin. The cold chill reaching up to his ear as he stood there, frozen in fear.

The cold felt animalistic and threatening. Icy claws dug into his shoulder as Steven was paralyzed from sudden fear.

The cold, the aura… it growled…

Steven snapped the box closed and took the lamp, discarding anything else in the chamber. Those diamonds. This crypt. Something was here. Something was guarding this place. And Steven isn't the kind to seek to anger a spirit of any kind. He sprinted out of the room as his breaths came ragged and forced. Anxiety and panic crawled into his veins and washed a cold feeling all over his chest and he booked it down a hall, not even bothering to check which way he was going.

Steven took a sharp turn to the path he believed was to the stairs. To his luck, a glow splayed onto the floor, a small doorway in the near distance leading down. Right as he was about to make it to the light from the staircase, something seized his neck and yanked him to the floor. He yelped. The thing walked right past and blocked the door. Staring at him. Steven felt shadows of the claws that dug into his neck, lingering imprints that turned hot with pain. Sore enough to bruise. The creature clacked its sharp nails together, warbling sharp claws.

Within the ringing of his ears as his head clipped against the ground, a gurgle. A mangled speech. Steven stared at the long ebony legs in front of him. The purple lamp a few feet away illuminated the rest of the creature. Steven kept his eyes to the floor, and slowly crawled to his lamp. The creature murmured a question. An End-dwelling creature loomed over his cowering body.

It chatted a question that sounded more of a demand.

Steven grabbed his lamp and dashed in the other direction. The creature hissed and squawked in confusion. Past the two halls, Steven ran. The corridor widened to a great degree. Shadows of unlit lamps hung on the walls as Steven passed them, his own jangling wildly in his grip. More creatures in his peripheral vision, but only actual shadows, white pinpricks of eyes blinking and waiting. Each group waggled their heads in curiosity as Steven sprinted past them, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.

He pushed further. The creature squawking and gurgling angrily behind him. Steven could hear the swipes whistle in the air as the creature reached for him.

The shadows tried to swarm him, but the light kept each and every one of those things at bay.

A light.

The shadows began to recede that wasn't from the purple lamp. A doorway. A wide arch that reached from the top of the corridor to each side. A dark murky mist seeped out from the archway and into the light, dissolving in seconds and tendrils came in constant streams but never made it far. Steven almost cried a laugh in relief. He didn't bother seeing the path ended at the opening.

All he saw was light.

And that light was all he cared about. 

A light to scare away this creature.

The Enderman wailed from behind him. It's guttural speech echoing through the hall as panicked chattering closely followed. Those mauve reptilian eyes, fuming and concerned.

Steven dashed through the opening. But promptly fell. His feet missed every step as he tumbled down the flight of stairs. Wisps of the shadow mists curling around his feet and tumbling down alongside him as it dissipated. His cloak wrapping around his figure as he came crashing down to the floor. 

His head hit hard. His eyes a blur and blood on his forehead. The lamp next to his eyes twirled into painful twos and threes. He couldn't move. He refused to move. Everything hurt too much. His skull throbbed.

The enderman came peeking out of the archway and saw the man laying on the floor. Unmoving. The enderman huffed, grumbling a curse in its native language. Shaking its head, it disappeared into the shadows. Flickering of purple dust in its wake.

...

Steven came too only a second later. He lolled his head to the other side to see the steps in which he tumbled down. He squinted his eyes. The stairs… They are a cloudy white with black veins running among the hazy stone. Marble. With a red streak dripping with blood where his head had clipped against the stair's edge.

Steven lifted a hand to touch where his forehead had been cut. He hissed as the fingertips came back covered in blood, one that slowly leaked down his face.

Steven pushed himself up, groaning in pain. He inspected his arms and hands, barely any scratches but welts and bruises dotted his body. Save for the lesion on his forehead. Steven could see his pick had dislodged from his belt and his satchel tossed nearby.

With a limp, he scooped up his bag and climbed the steps back for his trusty pick. Headache throbbing bad, he dug through his satchel for a healing ointment.

A potion, small bandaging, and little other things, he was okay. Satisfied with the bandaging, he looked up.

All the pain was ignored as his jaw dropped.

Eyes widening, breathless at the expanse before him. A warbled beauty deformed with the claws of time. The expanse of the cavern was larger than any castle he's seen. From the vaulted ceiling, cracks and holes filtered through the arches as vines, ivy, and moss blankets and hung from the holes.

White peaceful light filtered through the openings, shedding light the rolling mists around the creek that encircled the floor. A light mist fogged the distance as it rolled about near the creek.

From the steps he tumbled down, a long straight path of grey stones, mossy, and weathered. The path was intercepted by a gurgling creek, trickling by. A small stone bridge slightly arched over the water and the path shot forward a good sixty meters before climbing up to an elevated platform. Steven squinted his eyes to see the marvelous architecture, the detail, but it's too far away.

Excitement filled his curious heart. He trotted forward with a limp, pick bouncing off his side, lantern held high, though its glow couldn't overpower that of what could be the natural sun. He viewed the walls as he passed. Detailed sculptures of warriors, mages, and people of the like with great forgotten names. Mounds of debris formed miniature hills on the grey brick floor, gravel tossing tiny plumes of just as every gentle breeze.

The scent of the creek and flowing air was fresh in Steven's lungs. It could almost let him ignore the aches in his legs and the pounding in his head. Welcoming. But it's not unbearably freezing like the blizzard he saw previously. Magic had to be at work, but he wasn't complaining. It was the freshness of a common forest, with towering stone pillars instead of craggy brown bark. Hanging vines and spiraling ivy tendrils instead of waving leaves. Moss snuggling in the cracks instead of sweet dewy grass.

A sense of home in a foreign place. His nerves relaxed as his wonder took flight. A place he's never even thought of before, why did it feel so familiar?

" _ It was nice of you to bless those miners. _ " A deep voice resounded across the area. More of it was loud enough and echoed like it was across the area but only felt the vibrations in his head. A melancholy tone in the hoarse vibrations. Like a gravelly sandpaper rubbing in his ear, tiny barbs echoing in his mind.

" _ The miner's fickle luck, per se? _ "

The muscles in Steven's body seized with a painful vigor. His aching head throbbed harder as the last echoes of the voice sent instinctual panic through his veins. He whipped around, tired indigo eyes wide and scanning the vast man-made area, the pointless lantern swaying with every jerk.

"Wh-who are you?"

" _ For now, I am nothing but a voice to you. But you have something that does belong to me, yet it is not in your presence. _ "

"Cryptic but alright..." Steven swallowed at the disembodied voice's words.

The voice gave a tired and rough chuckle, " _ Those white diamonds, they do not belong in that prison of a box, nor kept in your pocket either for the warning. I ask a simple request. For you to replace those diamond stars to their original homes… It would give me some peace of mind. _ "

"But, what about that enderman? I sure as... I doubt that one will even let me back into the dark place. And how do I know this isn't a trap? Suddenly walking into a large cavern-church-thing with engravings talking about a banished entity and then a 'spirit' starts talking to me?"

The feeling of pins and needles digging through his skin and into his head overwhelmed his senses within an instant. Steven fell onto a knee, clutching his head. He felt no pain, yet he was helpless under this spell. He coughed out air and struggled to take any in. The voice came thundering and present.

" _ You are right to be wary, but I never fiddle with such trivial games! Look around and see, had I really wanted to be rid of you you would have been dead before you even set foot in these caves. Had you been a threat, you would have wound up like those troublesome miners a while back. _ "

Steps resounded from in front of him, heavy footsteps like a sentinels march. The mentioning of the miners only fueled a sense of extreme wariness and distrust. But the footsteps felt to have stopped near his cowering form.

Steven peered his eyes up to see what thing could have an effect like this, but the force only reigned down on him harder forcing his head to bow. Effectively strangling him from the air.

" _ I exert my hold in this plane to make sure nobody gets past those stairs, and yet you walk through perfectly fine. Yet you could even see through the mirage I had placed on it. The creature I ensnared couldn't sense you till you stepped into the dark. Those others that dared swarm you fled from your presence. You baffle me. You prove that you are different. But I ask a simple request, see to it that it was completed. _ " The voice recedes as the pressure was alleviated from Steven's head.

"Not much of a request than a command with the risk of my life on the line- Ow!" A pebble bounced off his head as a grey figure dissolved in his peripheral vision.

Steven sighed with a sneer. Was this some sort of ancient locked spirit of an old noble? Some petty man-child that leeched off his father's property and money? Or maybe an actual ancient sentinel that got too snarky and was bound to protecting this crypt with the rest of his existence. Bastard thinks he can command any living thing to bow to his every whim.

Ha! Once I'm done with this thing, I'm gone! I doubt that this spirit thing infesting this place was benevolent enough to let me live after this. If I cause the next Armageddon after this thing sends me into the next plane of existence, it's not my problem. Those bastards up in their pristine castles, eating all their cake, was the reason why I don't have any family. So why should I bother? Wait... what was I originally complaining about again?

Then it came into his vision. He hadn't realized he was in the dark, without a lamp. He could hear the gurgling of the creature as it kept clear from Steven's path.

A faint red light barely penetrating the murkiness. The only torch he's seen in the area. It glowed red, like an oxygen-starved flame on the verge of dying. The flame flickering a lethargic dance. Yet shimmered a saturated blood-red powder each time its coal was covered in this deep red substance that Steven couldn't put his finger on. Still small as flames were, it consumed the weird rock bit by bit.

"So, the air was thinner than I thought." Steven thought out loud, turning into the pathway, "And suddenly a light that appeared out of nowhere, yup, no warning signs going off here. None at all!"

Steven retraced his steps and entered the small chamber. Just as he imagined, another oxygen-deprived, dying kindling. But it had a lump of normal coal in the clutched of the torch. A beacon on the altar where Steven found the container. The torch gleaming against the dark wooden box and the white marble.

Gingerly, the box was lifted from the surface and placed in his bag. Steven extinguished the oxygen-deprived torch and left the room to bask in darkness once again. Who knows who else might be lurking in those shelves.

"What now, what now..." Steven pondered to himself, "To return them to their proper home... now, where could that... oh." The alcove, that little niche! Within the painting were two indents the shape of stars with four points! Wow, he was doing great today...

Retracing even more steps, the corridor narrowed and pointed to the staircase which now retreated down. The strange hue of the magenta light returned to his vision as the old lanterns warmed back to the yellow returned to his sight.

The alcove was nearby.

Familiar passages and marks pointed to the new destination. The presence of the starry diamonds in his satchel gave Steven a tightening in his chest, heart struggling to beat faster. He could hear it pounding in his head. Each step caused the pounding to grow ever more severe.

Why the anxiety? It's just two perfect diamonds being placed into some holes in this wall. An otherworldly being asking for a small favor. The thoughts jumble in his mind, each one bumping into the other as they wind and twist together. None fit the puzzle he tried to make.

The niche was right in front of his face. Steven blinks. Those empty hollow eyes of the painting staring right into his soul. The icy varnish receded as the young man inches closer.

With a shaky hand, the box was lifted out of the satchel and popped open with a click. One hand holding the box, the other lifting the flawless diamond stars from the old red velvet bed and placing them into the fresco. Like a magnet, it popped into the dedicated carvings.

One.

Two.

The boxed was flipped closed as the diamonds glimmered, almost warmly from the painting's eyes. A quiet thanking.

A pleased hum resonated from the painting, "Thank you, kind adventurer, for giving ease to an old soul." The painting's film began to shimmer and warp like an iridescent varnish was peeling from the original painting, flowing like waves in the purple lantern light. The voice in the painting groaned and grunted as if waking from a centuries-old slumber. The shimmering veil wavered and ripples at every sound. Yeah, not some spoiled royal brat chained to some crypt.

Where’s the holy water and a demon-spirit banishing kit for beginners when you need one?

" _ It has been a long time since I've made contact with an altar. _ " The voice in the painting sighed happily. The coarseness, the strangled vibrations rejuvenated, healthier, " _ You may continue your quest, miner. There exists a volley of empty caves farther ahead from the central atrium. If that is what you are questing for. Most are unexplored and filled with many rare materials. I'll see that you are guided there properly _ ."

Steven nodded as the iridescent glaze over the painting sunk back down and the crystals solidified into the painting. The prescience of another had vacated the vicinity and Steven was left truly alone again in the crypt. The cold leaving him alone. His mind begged for the option of leaving, he did too. But that wasn't happening apparently.

Quota still needs to be met.

...

Steven stood in front of an arch. A doorframe the being in the way spoke of he believed. The shadows swirled within again, shying away from the light yet a strange unnatural darkness, not even his new lamp could pierce.

The caves, the minerals, the feeling of shockwaves as his pick crashed down into the stone and yanking it away to collect the treasure locked behind the earth. His hands tremble with excitement at the idea of finding something new. Maybe a cool trinket, or a rare rock, maybe even…

The young miner’s deep indigo eyes wandered from the entrance into the lower caves to the current surroundings. Those lively eyes trail to each statue elegant, each vaulted arch in the ceiling, each waving ivy, each slab of glistening marble, all the way to the tower.

A solid block surrounded by intricately carved pillars made of marble. Upon the largest base was an array of smaller pillars and indents that look to be of water channels, and at the top was a railing and something behind that. All connected by a long staircase up.

His eyes squinted at the tower, four columns that rose from the floor and shot up, clinging to the ceiling. Each column base was a carved statue representing a race. A human, an aetherian, an enderman, and a netherian. At least what he remembered being depicted in the research he conducted. Mainly mythology he believed.

Each base figure held up the second section of the pillars on their heads and they looked down. Hands cupped in front of them, as they looked forward with a thousand-yard stare. Each supported corner of the solid block of stone carved with other creatures and people frozen in place in their frolicking.

Steven's focus was drawn closer to the strange altar-like tower. In the middle those four columns, on top of that solid slab of stone, a thing. A stark contrast to the white marble and lighter pallet grand chamber. It was dark, a gleam of purple and blue from the natural light filtering down from the cracked vaulted ceilings.

The miner turned tails to the deep murkiness that begged him to return, but his own conscious ignored its plea as his own entrancement pulled him towards the slab of stone, and to the stairs that trailed up to its top. Every little hair on the back of his neck urged him away.

But his heart spoke otherwise: if he was going to die today, might as well fill it with adventure.

Steven drew closer, standing at the foot of the white marble stairs. The black object, strange in its nature. He swore he heard it call his name. A yellow glint reflected into his eyes. He saw the black object has a curve and an empty space in the middle the longer he stared.

A large ring of sorts?

The strange ring seemed to beckon him from the platform it sat on. Steven judged it to be at least thirty feet from the ground. The grand figures in the columns in perfect detail. On top of those grand columns rose thinner pillars that rose to the ceiling where a chain connected at the very top, remains of a rusted and decayed chandelier hung. Tattered banners and moth-eaten silk draped hung from the thinner pillars. Animals and saints carved into the banister of the elevated platform.

All undisturbed.

Inspecting each weathered carving, Steven rose up step by step. Moss blanketed almost every inch and ivy clung and flowed down the sides of the banisters. Cautiously testing each stair before moving up. Then, at the top. Steven stepped onto the marble surface, a marvelous sight before him.

A ring made of stones, as black as the void itself. Shimmering deep blues and purples from the inner side before fading to a black on the outside. Gold trimmings branched from the thick golden base and held each shard in place. Despite the wear of the entire cavern it was housed in. The void black ring of stones and gold which held it together was in pristine condition. Even better than the painting of the spirit that asked for a simple favor.

The artifact. It called to him. A force that was his own mind compelled the young man to push forward. Entrancing was the black stone and the gleaming gold. Worn hand centimeters from the surface. A shadow upon the stone.

The lantern fell from his grasp and rolled. Steven did not even flinch as the metal clanked against the ground. His eyes are tied to the strange artifact. A mystifying buzz in the back of his mind, drowning out all other senses. A recurring theme as this aura held his attention like no other, not even those diamonds. He felt drawn, a familiarity he couldn't place.

Fingers grazed.

The feeling of ghostly hands seized him.

A bust of power long decayed suddenly flowed through his body. Steven yelped. Shaking him straight to core as the power clung around his heart, the home of his soul. The organ beating faster. Tension coiling around his chest. Struggling to fight what force was seeping into his very being. Panic filling his mind. The young man saw images, memories, flashed within his mind. The force was sizzling on his skin, an electric current through his body. It burned. It hurt. He felt as if he was dying.

Steven fought against the force and broke away from the ring. Scowling at the spirit who called the artifact it’s home. Panting. Oh so heavily panting. Or at least the source of… whatever was living here. Steven leaned down and shakily picked up his lamp, the purple shining beautiful against the void-like stone, and clipped it to his belt.

He glared darkly, trembling from the aftershock. Those flashes translating to words. The spirit from before, this was where it's housed. It's a point of total power. The bastard itself. The image of those white eyes burned into his head.

"I know who you are now." He stated. The being inside the artifact was silent for a second. Then the chills from before returned and brought swirling fog out of every breath. The presence clinging to his cloak, a hold to commune with the living.

" _ And who, that is, I am? _ " Returned the voice from the painting, a mischievous undertone to the once depressed crow of the voice. Steven straightened his back and mimicked a snarl on his lips.

"You are a being of the mist. Spawning from the brine of the ocean fog, you are the being that came with a purpose. You are a guardian, a natural-born protector of the realm of the Nether. You are a being fickle in amusement but determined in your purpose. Though many claim you have strayed from your purpose to fulfill a different nature." Steven concluded the history lesson with a cold and unwavering poise.

He was so terrified.

Where did this confidence come from?

The voice sighed, half in relief, half in exasperation. Steven trained his eyes back onto the jet black rim. The distortion in the air evident within the interior of the ring. A distortion in reality only a powerful entity can create.

" _ You are well informed, young man. Much more than any other in this realm. The tales in my name have been long warped and twisted to fulfill the gaps in natural accidents and folktale's glory. This God’s purpose is as fickle as their 'amusement' is. Their nature is as it is intended to be. _ "

"I can suppose this is a portal. A nether portal. Yours perhaps?"

" _ Correct, the last of its kind. It would please me to see it once again active. _ " Responded the disembodied voice.

"To set you free."

" _ Give or take. _ "

"And what was this about traps... or games?"

" _ You want to be lectured again? Activate this portal, and I won't cause this entire place to cave and drag your soul into the nether myself. _ "

Steven shook his head and traced his fingers over the sharp edge of the obsidian. A war in his head. Battles as contrasting thoughts. He can't believe the small thought in his mind that wanted to help.

His gut twisted.

He was torn between keeping people safe, and honoring his own moral law. Someone called for help, he wanted to help.

Arg! Blast his wretched heart and damn its fragility!

Something wants him to help this hidden demon, yet his instinct was begging him to run. Something in the back of his mind egged him on to humor the demon, that maybe it could be beneficial.

Steven leaned closer to the portal frame. Each shard of the magma glass touches in some sort of way, yet carved finely in each curve. Steven hummed and pleasantly scrutinized the dimension connector's artistic qualities. He admired the golden trimming that held each shard in place. The quality of work that allowed the stone and metal to remain in such good condition. He was fascinated on how the gold trimming (again) held each obsidian shard to touch each other to form the large ring.

"You are trapped either in or behind-"

" _ Half and half. _ " The God interrupted.

Steven cleared his throat as he started again, "... so how are you able to... you know... make the temperature drop and touch me with your icy cold... things?"

The being in the portal emitted an aura that felt like a shrug, "I am in a spectral form, so weak that not even the most acute can sense my existence. But the natural decay in ancient magic has let me stretch my legs a little within this dimension. Yet, I'll never be truly free to exist without the barrier."

Steven felt another trance in the back of his mind. He concluded it was the interference of the entity behind the portal trying to either get him killed and chase him away, "But… how do I even open it?" As of now? It feels like it's trying to contain him.

There goes another cold chill down his spine, the invisible force curling non-existent fingers around his left arm and another taking a gentle hold of his chin. The cold force turned his head to the multitude of chests behind him. The cold was more present than before. The fog became thicker in his face.

" _ It eludes me that the craft of transversing dimensions has faltered through the eras. This portal requires the main element of its destination to open. _ "

A rude though popped up in the back of his mind. Steven shushed the sarcastic comment before asking: "And what would that be?"

" _ Fire. _ "

Steven, not wanting to fight an old and forgotten bastard- AHEM, otherworldly being, swallowed as he nodded along. Either follow the orders given, or risk discovering the true extent of the being’s powers.

He stepped away from the risen portal and trotted down the steps. The coldness leaving him. The war was over. The decision has been made. Though it seems that maybe this isn't exactly his will.

"How am I not surprised." Steven scoffed to himself.

Steven paused before the chests and began rummaging for a striker. Chest after chest, it appears that each container had been long since ransacked and replaced with dust and dirt. He sighed and plopped his rear near the creek-bed. The strange natural lights from above twinkling the ripples in the flowing water.

There, a glint. A dull darkened reflection underneath the light-colored gravel which polluted the stream. Rolling up his sleeves he plunged his hand into the water and fished out the rock. Minuscule fish and small water-dwelling critters fled from his hand as he reached deeper into the muddy gravel. Just as he suspected, a fine shard of flint, worn to a perfect roundness from the water.

He yanked out of the water, but it slipped. It was like juggling a slimy rock… he was pretty much juggling a slimy rock that refused to stay in his grasp. With his cloak, he grabbed the rock and rubbed the algae off.

Steven peered up and squinted at the ceiling. Sure enough, mounds of compressed rocks and dust hung overhead, compressed so tight it refuses to budge from its elevation. One echo and the whole ceiling may cave in on him. Steven wiped the flint dry on his cloak and dropped the rock into his bag.

Where would he get steel... oh... his pick. Untangling the tool from his belt, Steven gave the rock a few test strikes. As expected, sparks flew from the friction and dazzled onto the stone before dying as quickly as it came. Humming triumphantly to himself.

Steven paraded up to the portal. The cold air stayed at arm’s length, yet the presence never leaving its focus on the young adventurer and the event that will take place. The feeling of non-existent eyes boring into his back.

He raised his pick and raised the flint. Taking a drawn breath, the flint came crashing on the steel. Sparks flew and pattered against the stone. Nothing happened. Steven tried again. And against. Nothing was lighting the portal. It wouldn't catch.

Steven noticed the small film of moisture upon the portals frame, the coldness a deep contrast to the humid air around it. The trickling water nearby doesn't help either.

"The sparks. Th-they are too weak... I think. There's too much moisture it won't catch." The presence faded, leaving a malevolent itch on Steven's consciousness.

'Great,' he grumbled in his head, 'I have now disappointed a grand being known for his anger issues and murderous personality.' And Steven waited. For a boulder to suddenly come crashing down, a stray creature of the night to come and plunge an arrow to his heart, that… tall creature to come back and thwap him on the head, a sudden wave of nausea to disorient him, a force that will push him over the edge of the banister and break his neck upon impact, a diamond pickaxe in the back.

But nothing came.

Steven opened his eyes. Nothing, the expanse of the large chamber was untouched and as it was. Steven does not like the sudden retreat of the presence, it left him empty.

And then it hit him.

_ 'Bloody bastard was using me and clouding my judgment to activate this portal. Whatever hex that was that he could use to wreak havoc on the mortal world again.' _

Steven paused for a response to his rhetorical question. A bitter taste in the back of his mouth was the best way to explain this encounter. But an inkling still lingered out of curiosity.

_ 'Guess so...' _

Steven turned and sighed, dragging his feet down the stairs. Past the column, through the earthen depression for a path, over the bridge of the creek, and... wait a second... Steven turned on his heels and stared at the chests. Wooden chests. Heavily termite eaten wooden chests. Wood equals fire. Fire equals opening that damn portal.

Bounding over the creek and skidding to a halt in front of the old chests. Steven unsheathed his pick and rammed it down on a chest, splinters flying everywhere. The sharp edge of the steel pick coming down, again and again. The chest cracked more with every swing. The chest finally broke into dozens of shards and jagged fragments. Splinters dispersing across the floor. Taking a large portion of a fragment, Steven gathered more and more and dashed up to the portal. He dropped all the wood shards and made his way back into the series of hallways.

An inkling came back and his eyes began to burn. An energy was bubbling in his chest as his speed picked up. Chills ran down his spine as goosebumps covered his skin. His boots hitting the floor echoed through the cavern and the halls.

Sprinting, his breath, his heart pounding, sharp turn into the room. The empty space where the dark box once held two diamond stars and the extinguished torch still standing next to it. Steven snagged the torch and tracked his way back to the open chamber.

Steven raced up the staircase to the portal. He skidded to a halt as he hesitated in front of the portal. A force urged him on, tensing his muscles to move forward, to open the portal. A cloud of curiosity, the best way to explain, welling up in his chest as his aching legs numbed.

Steven was panting, drenched with sweat as he held the extinguished torch in one hand and the flint in the other. Deep breaths, steady your heart. Steven leaned the torch against the base of the portal. Pickaxe ready, Steven knelt down and began striking. Sparks flew at the torch and a small flame ignited, then it quickly consumed the entire torch.

Laughing to himself, Steven took the torch and held it to the fragments of the wooden chest. A red glow as brown turned to cracked charcoal. The torch pushed farther into the kindling. Small crackling came from the pile.

Out rose a yellow flickering light. Spontaneously the entire pile burst into a flower of heated reds, oranges, and yellows. Steven was taken aback at the sudden expanse of the flame.

He tossed the torch into the fire.

Then... the flames turned into a bright purple inferno. Expanding in size. Steven stepped back as the flames crawled from the center pile up to encase the entire inner circle of the frame. A smaller ring of fire inside the ring of shining dark iridescent stone.

A single black dot rose to the center as the flames reached for the center dot. Flickers from the bottom looking up, flickering from the top reaching down, same thing for the round sides. The flames increased in size as they reached for the center. Small flickers of dusty purple mist shot from the crackling fire.

The frame itself started changing. In between the cracks and void spaces of the dark shards of what Steven guessed was tempered obsidian, a glowing red liquid seeped into those voids, starting from the inner circle then branching out. From the base of the portal, the same liquid filled the lines, then those carvings made sense.

The glowing liquid followed the predetermined crevices and flowed to the sides before disappearing over the edges into a waterfall of red. Heat radiated off the liquid, Steven began sweltering just by standing near the portal. Magma…

From the distance looking towards the tower. The magma ran like water. The water drained quickly as the channels were filled with the running lava. From the tower, the lava running in between the obsidian plates drained below, filling the channels and flowing further, the statues began to bleed the lava from their cupped hands as it poured into the larger streams below. 

Their eyes radiated magic as red beams came from each pair of eyes from the statues. Old magic lanterns sparked to life as they returned to pristine condition. A magic spell was at work as years of decay slowly ate away into renewal in a clear circle around the tower.

"Ah!" Cried the young man as white flashed his vision and an explosion blew his body away from the portal. His head spun and every drowned out of focus. He quickly fell to his knees before the portal. Energy taking his strength and balance. 

He felt something toying with his mind. Like an energy seeping into his body. A fire that blazed through his veins as a light blinded him. 

Stinging of burns and dust that cling to his fresh wounds. Throat exposed. Loud sounds of something collapsing, The crackling of the stone around growing even more unstable, the rush of water, and the sizzling of the lava dripping from the portal filled his ears. Everything he touched was numb, unregistering to his body. Body still in shock, eyes burning as a headache formed across his entire skull and the bright lights that consumed him. Dust blew into his face with every breath. It felt like it was being into him and stealing it at the same time.

Resounding steps came from before him. The direction of the portal. Each one sending jolts of pain down his body and through his pounding head. The young man whimpering in pain. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't prepared for this. It felt like his soul was being sucked out of his body every second.

The footsteps stop right by his head. The presence in the cold was near. Fog envelopes his body. The air dropped in temperature as Steven shudders painfully. But the presence, it feels real. A bright light filled his eyes no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes closed. The bright light won't fade as it strengthens in brilliance.

He fell backward and clips on the edge of the top step. His hair began to mat with blood. Slowly the red drips down the step and pools in the cracks. He should feel pain, the burning heat? Where did it go?

The pain which racked his body melted away, the pounding in his head became nothing more than a numb memory. Steven cracked open a single indigo eye at the prescience. A brilliant white and intense shine. Steven painfully squeezed his eyes close again at the light, painful shivers returning.

" _ See who your kindness has foolishly saved. _ " The voice proclaimed, more present than before. Its voice commanding, healthy, human almost, conniving, and physical. Steven couldn't move. He just groaned. He felt a warm hand coil around his exposed neck and his body be lifted.

Yet he could breathe freely.

" _ It appears I have stolen your strength. _ " The voice gave a cruel chuckle.

‘no shit’

Steven's feet dragged as he was lifted, to the point he couldn't reach the ground. He peeked his eyes open again, and felt no pain. He gazed upon the figure that stood before him. His words were stuck in his throat as he stared, jaw tense, as he was held up by the throat. Steven's own hands instinctively clamped down on the wrist that held him captive.

Steven dared looked at the entity, but blinding whiteness like the sun sent pain into his eyes.

The crackle of lightning filled the air. Steven could feel the static putting the hair on his neck on edge. The light returned and Steven flinches away, turning his head and squeezing his eyes further closed.

As the light went down, Steven peeked his eyes open. There. His mirror image. The figure stood on the cracked marble. His face but sharper, his beard but fuller, his hair but sleeker, his body but stronger, his clothes but dirtier. And the figure opened its eyes. Shining white stared back, mystical and blinding. But not his eyes...

" _ A sign of status if I may. A showing of magical prowess and strength. _ " The figure had a gesture to his eyes, " _ I am indebted to you, for showing kindness when you knew full well who you were communing with. _ "

"But… why my f-fa-" Steven's throat constricted for a quick second.

The entity only smirked in reply. The aura surrounding Steven's body grew thicker and more prominent. He couldn't move. Steven's heart raced as the being only glared. He tried twisting, writhing out of the hold. But he was paralyzed in midair. Those haunting eyes trained, no burning right into his own.

The miner opened his mouth to speak. But the being clenched tighter, choking Steven of his words and looked away, down at the floor. Dark brown hair, mirror to his but significantly longer, tousling in a weak draft.

Silence.

Steven closed his dry mouth. Heart beating faster, shivers suffocating his lungs. Steven blinked. And the being was gone and so was the hold on his throat.

Gravity regained its hold on his body. Steven crashed down on the floor, hacking his lungs out, pushing himself to his hands and knees. His breath slowly steadied. Then, a sharp edge tapped his back. A blade. The anxiety returned. Steven twitched forward, the edge dug deeper into his back.

" _ You are foolish. _ "

Steven felt tears prick into his eyes. He should have followed his instincts. Steven let his body sag and leaned on the side of his hip. Right as he thought the being was gone, he let down his guard and the demon took a larger hold of his mind. The Demigod isn't finished.

" _ -to even enter the cursed catacombs. Have you ever heard the tales that lurk about this ruin? Why was I ever chained to this place and locked behind that portal? The 'crimes' I supposedly committed against your people? I must continue my work but... I no longer have that taste for blood... yet. But, you are foolish. What if I was a malevolent entity? A poltergeist of chaos? _ "

Steven felt something bubbling deep inside him, a pressure that threatened to erupt like a boiling geyser into the air. Not even the blade at his back could shake his words. He began to laugh.

"Didn't you just describe yourself? A malevolent force, existing to bring chaos? One who declares anything with a sense of kindness an imbecile? Am I foolish? Or am I just being too kind to the ungrateful being that asked for help? Even if my help was forced upon me without my consent?"

The God was taken aback. Yet, he could hear the mortal's heart beating faster than a rabbit’s. The rapid inhales as he leaned only an inch further. There was a glare in those indigo irises. The Demigod shook his head, an evil smirk upon its face. He tightened his hold on his glistening blade, pressing it deeper. The young adventurer yelped. The demigod struck red.

" _ You do not understand what you have done, and to have the gall to even dare speak to me like that? _ "

Steven wished to glare at the Demigod at his back. The being that stole his face, save for the eyes. With his heart beating in his ears and the rapid inhales, Steven shook his head. Defiance seeded in his nervous heart.

"If you say I'm foolish, an idiot, why do you still speak to me? A lowly mortal beneath your status? Why bother caring if I won't be around for Armageddon?" Steven mocked. The Demigod growled. He was growing irate. This time, Steven was the one who wasn't finished.

"-then what's it you'll do when you let my blood coat your blade? Will you continue your rampage of old? Will you seek repentance? Will thousands more die by your crumbling hands? Or will you fulfill your purpose in being the guardian of the fog or whatever the shit it was? If you do wish to be different and repent, how will killing me make you different from the old you? Wouldn't it only kick you farther from the light? Or are you too far gone?"

Steven could feel the Demigod flinch with every word. Like a drop of acid into an open wound.

"And what's this about me being different, the one who could push past your facade and survive that creature you put in the shadow area." The air grew thicker with tension as the demigod seethed. He felt the cold blade leave his back and prepared for the penetration. The kill. The end of his pitiful, altruistic heart. Steven held his breath.

But nothing. 

The air was still.

Other than his strained heartbeat, the huffing and growling of the demigod filled the room. Footsteps circled to the front of the young adventurer. Steven couldn't help but smile with furrowed brows. A prodding smile. Tempting the demigod to make a move.

To prove his point.

A stalemate. The demon refused to move. Steven refused to move. The longer the two glared, the surrounding area becomes insufferable to breathe. Suffocating even. The demon glared at the young man sitting on his knees below him.

"Then what are you going to do?" Steven sneered.

Fractions of seconds, Steven felt the hand seize his neck and constrict once again. He coughs out any air trapped in a panic yet couldn't bring more in. Steven squirmed as the demon lifted the young man by his neck till his feet barely scraped the ground.

He smirked.

Not so tough now?

Steven continued to kick and struggle. Clawing at the iron fist that held him such a weak position. Tears welled up in his eyes as aching pain tore into his lungs and the beating of his weakening heart filling his head. The world faded in and out. Seeing in doubles and triples as the world spins. He's suffocating. As his consciousness slips, the demon gives one last regard.

" _ We will see. _ "

…

_ (A.N. Thank you for reading! If you notice any mistakes don't be afraid to let me know! I’ve updated this chapter to blend with what’s said in later chapters as this was originally supposed to be a one-shot kind of story but I liked it so much I kept it going. Thank you for reading and it truly means a lot. _

_ I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!) _

  
  


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	2. The Mountain Village

**This chapter was edited on 6/23/2020**

…

  
  


**PART ONE: IT BEGINS**

  
  


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Chapter II: The Mountain Village

  
  


…

  
  


The day is waning at the herding village in the flat plains of the mountain. The sun is high and snow is just thin sheets upon the earth and trees. Columns of smoke from red brick chimneys. Herds of sheep frolic in the fields, burrowing their noses beneath the frost and munching on sweet grass. Clouds swirl happily as birds dance in the spaces between.

The yellow bird twitters a song to the village-folk working their labors of the afternoon. Hut's of oak, dark in nature, huddled close together in the confines of a sturdy stone wall.

Among the assortment of huts and tiny houses, a larger one.Two stories and many beds with the scent of cold drinks and hot meals wafting from the bottom floor.

Two people are sitting at a small booth in the inn, both nursing a sort of drink in their hands. One, a dark-skinned male built like a redwood tree, dark brown hair messy and tousled, covered in pale bandages. The other, a tall redheaded fair-skinned woman, her freckled skin littered in well-earned scars who could probably punch you in the face and you'll thank her.

The pub is relatively empty and quaint in style, dark stained floors, rubbed with age and use.

The walls were an earthy plaster to keep the heat in, a few paintings hung including some interesting taxidermy trophies: Mostly deers but a very worn ravager-beast head hung over the fire-place. Steven wasn't a fan of the whole culture of preserving game like that, but it's not his establishment. Chatter low as business was dragging.

Not many travelers this time of year. The young man at the bar scrubbed aimlessly at the counter as the clock ticked by, waiting for his shift to end.

"... Still, I have no idea what came over me. I don't even know how that demon was able to influence me so strongly and I couldn't even tell! Hell, I was able to bullshit my way through and I don't even know the bastard's actual name. Don't get me started on what came over me. I suddenly started talking like some gallant hero, or philosophy professor and snarked the demon into pausing for a good second. It was like I had suddenly grown a massive pair made of solid steel. Who even talks like that anymore? Me apparently! Especially when my life is literally flashing before my eyes!"

The red-head was leaning on the table, hands clasped together as pointer fingers both pointed up as she rested her lips against the sides. She had sat like that ever since the other had started his tangent. Her green eyes with a thousand-yard stare, processing. Letting her drink grow colder by the second.

She glanced up and held her concerned gaze, unmoving, "So long story short: you're saying that you accidentally set free a possibly murderous entity who could manipulate your mind and crafty enough wiggle out of some godly induced curse. And on top of all that, who may come back to finish the job he started after you supposedly helped him?" The woman muttered.

"And clouded my better judgment... Yeah... not my best moment." The second one responded.

The first sputters, "Wha? I? Not your best moment," she mocked, "You may have started the next Blight by the damn description you gave me! I can't stand the thought of having to deal with zombies every day! Intelligent ones at that. Don't get me started on those things when the blood moon hits. Have you ever fought off the zombie-plague infection? Once it reaches your head you turn into one of them!" Ranted she.

Steven pinched the bridge of his nose, "I know, Alex, I've been bitten more times than I'd like to say..."

"One that somehow has survived more than what, five, six instances of infection. Probably enough exposure to fighting it without any medical interference..." Alex quipped as she gave him a lopsided shit-eating grin.

"-Almost cut my arm off, but you'd understand why that won't be good in the long run-"

"At least you won't turn into some supernatural werewolf like in those stories. Being infected and all that. I'm surprised you can even stand in a desert sun without bursting into flames." Alex smirked, taking a sip of her drink.

Steven held a gaze, thinking, as he looked out the window for a split second, "Speaking of which, isn't going to be a new moon tonight? I remember it waning when I was heading to the old crypt."

The woman took a sip of her hot chocolate and groaned in frustration. She hunched over on the table, tapping her fingertips on the wooden surface in irritation, "By Jeb… I forgot… Damn, that's why they brought me here and I completely ignored that. And it's a bunch of skeletons that are harassing this village and most of them have bows and the like. Rumors speak of a pillager tower being erected a good two dozen kilometers East."

"Probably a traveler at night saw the Morrison windmill and panicked. It'll be fine." Steven reassured, "Besides, you're the best fighter I know. Those things have nothing on you."

Alex nodded. She sighed as she sat up straighter, something piqued her mind, "Now did you even get anything? Or was this entire trip a bust on your end?" The warrior concluded.

Steven leaned over to his satchel bag sitting next to him and pulled a small paper out, "I got a bit of that one necromantic stone, that looks like it might be going up in value on the market. But when I woke back up, the blizzard was still bad, so I checked some collection chests in what I guessed was the in-house smeltery. I found piles of mountain iron, a bit of gold, quite a few bell-quartz, and a solid piece of diamond, the cheap kind. All still in my resource satchel." Steven stretched his back, "I checked." 

"At least some sort of item of value..." Retorted Alex into her mug.

The moment Steven passed out, the demon must have had some sort of inkling of mercy as Steven found himself bandaged and splayed out on the lone single bed at the entrance of the crypt.

An empty healing potion, a crackling furnace fire, and a small note that was written in strangely neat and cursive handwriting. But sooty and ashy as all hell and the ink was a concerning reddish-brown. But that's a problem for never.

' _ I have repaid you for releasing me. When we meet again, you will not be as fortunate. _ '

That was all that was left of the demon. Surly the entity could have taken advantage of the situation, though Steven is just glad he is still alive. At least for the time being.

But even after he came to consciousness the next morning, reminisce of the icy storm pushed him back into the crypt. A different path closer to the entrance leads to a smeltery and plenty of resources to grab either way. After stashing the best he could, until his satchel was stretching its seams, swollen with goods, he fled as the feeling of eyes burned into his back and cold bit his bare skin.

The blizzard had left when he exited back, and the path was relatively safe to travel back to the village. Steven made his last stop to the inn where Alex had taken roost while he was gone crypt spelunking.

Neither of them truly liked the cold, though Steven was practically attuned to almost all the climates in the known world, and Alex got mildly sniffly (as she always does in the cold) so she was advised against going with him. And she needed to fortify the local garrison and do some checkups and take over training for the time being. It was her job to do so as given by her superior.

One and a half weeks to whip the new recruits into shape and work on restoring the old. But maybe if she was there in the crypt with him instead, he wouldn't have a possible target right on his back and maybe the next mini-apocalypse wouldn't happen soon…

Alex snapped Steven out of his reflective trance, "Did it get those for you or-"

"No. As I said, I found them in some smeltery. Plenty of other chests I haven't looked in but every single time I turned my back, the feeling of those eyes bore into me. Yeah, I wanted to leave as fast as possible." Steven pushed the paper towards Alex, a complete list of everything he gained.

Alex leaned forward in her chair, "Never thought of you a scavenger" She teased.

"Hmph" Steven leaned back and crossed his arms, looking out the window from the booth. The sun is still in the sky as people do their average afternoon routines, "We do what we must to survive, eh?”

Alex glances at Steven through the corner of her eye, "…Then you'll train with me now? Learn a bit more of the one of a kind Alex-certified self-defense?" A malicious smile on her lips as she prodded Steven's leg under the table with her foot. Steven only glared through the corner of his eyes before looking back through the window.

Alex of Eastern Aeyr: Steven's best comrade and favorite travel companion. Her fighting skills are as sharp as her tongue, possibly more. But while he was more of a spelunking adventurer, he's quite sure Alex is the best at being the actual surface explorer. To spar with her is like a rabbit asking a bear to arm wrestle. Even if the rabbit was a two-meter giant, built like a sturdy three-hundred-year-old redwood tree and the bear was also a two-meter muscular-but-lean woman who knows how to kill a man with only a spoon and a leaf. Alex could dart through a forest lithe like a fox but pounce with the might of a giant.

But there lies a legend she’s tied to that of the Mystical Aether portal was housed in that very province. Aeyr/Aether. Same difference right? And Steven can understand why she refuses, a woe and a task so intense like that is one you never want to think about. Even if he doesn't know what it is.

"I can defend myself, thank you very much. Besides, you'll just kick my ass and gloat over it." Steven groused into his own mug of tea.

Alex shifted in her seat, leaning towards the edge as she glanced at the clock over the man’s head, "What if I promise to actually help you this time."

"This time?" Steven echoed with a scoff looking towards his companion.

Was it mentioned that Alex is the best fighter around? No wonder she held an office in the infamous mercenary guild back in Brighton province when no one knew of her non-alias name. Steven is well versed with a sword, but nothing he does can compare to the mighty warrior herself.

Anyways, no matter how many times he sparred, she always had him sitting on his rear and parading around him. But how can he say that she never helped? Because of her 'training', she put him through, he's gotten himself out of more than deadly situations many times. He'd never admit it, especially to her face. But she always knows, much like how Steven taught her small things on advanced survival.

She'd never admit it, but he knows it got her by. Is that how most friends are like? Siblings?

Alex sighed and looked into her empty cup, the sun was barely a few hours away from setting, and the moon will rise void of any light that night. A new moon, no vibrancy from above, the day-dwellers blind in the absence of it. Perfect for monsters and night-dwellers to go bump in the night.

The warrior excused herself to see if the garrison had followed instructions on guarding the gate. The spelunker sat in his chair, events of days ago flipping through his mind, a mile a minute. Reviewing the conversation just held. And trying to remember that bastard's name! It has to be in some nursery rhyme book or a dusty tome of ancient legends that may or may not be true.

His mind wandered back to the crypt in its entirety, thinking of reasons, explanations, of why the events turned as they did.

'...that's probably why there was nothing stalking those halls… and maybe that's why that creature was there, to stop me, didn't he say that himself?' Steven whispered to himself, downing the rest of his warm spiced drink. He doesn't have to protect himself by the blade only… There is a reason books exist. And his wits were always his best part of him unless you're talking to Alex.

With newfound vigor, he passed the bartender, left a few silver pieces, and strode to the nearest library.

  
  


… 

  
  


This… doesn't make any sense. Out of all these mythology books, nothing has the correct retelling of history. All of them are about how this demigod conquered the underworld and the demon's banishment before that. Nothing more, nothing less.

Fake retellings, fetching farther and farther with every book published. Other than that, all of them also condemn the demigod for its atrocities committed in the older eras of its tyranny. Though very few accounts explain that it was the demigod's change in loyalty to the creatures that hunt in the night.

But he did learn of the demon's name. Just glancing at it, all his knowledge on the subject suddenly came back. And things were piecing together.

Steven wished he could find some book at least that would speak of the demon's creation, their rise, their story, and their fall out of favor. Something may be a personal account or a log describing anything about him. Was he asking too much? Most definitely. Did Steven of Northern Theroncliffe care? No. Did he even know what he was looking for or even how to find it? Not a clue. Maybe he could start with not a tiny library nook in a village of about a three-hundred people.

Even then, to his distress, none of these books ever mention anything of the blasted demon's history or even describe any account of his spawning, or maybe his connection with those who reside in the aether! It's the same horror story over and over. About how the great heroes locked the demon away in the underworld after they managed to slay his mortal form. Like a few pages max before skipping to other stories. And to think this demon of a god used to have a following of his own. He was celebrated once many eons ago. What happened to those records?

Thinking back it's, once again, most likely copied in a capital library or some college. Not this little cozy nook, he'd still love to just hole up in here and read his life away anyhow.

Steven sighed as he leaned back, letting his head loll, indigo eyes glaring at the ceiling. The thick dark spruce beams overhead held nothing but dust and… is that a pencil? True the library held the same character of the inn: earthy plaster walls, dark weathered floors, cream draperies, and more books and shelves filled with books.

Bookshelves lined all the walls as a few desks and couches littered the center. But the rugs strewn about were pretty and colorful, adding a nice taste to the homeliness of the library. Alex did say they have some of the best wool in the province. Even the small fire in the hearth warmed up the entire room with ease.

Thinking back on the rugs, 'Not only do they have the best wool, but the sheep are also native only to this mountain range.' Steven quoted his companion. Soft and luxurious, it's the village's main export along with whatever coal mine that’s nearby.

His eyes grew heavy and burning every time he blinked. He dragged his palms down his face and softly groaned. He was tired, but there's still a sliver of light out and books still needing to be read.

He took the books he found and placed them all where he found them. Each empty slot on the shelves filled again. He huffed. This library had nothing he wanted. Nothing! It's a small one too. The next big city is over a couple of days travel by horse and the topic was childish in nature to be asking about anyways.

Possibly he could go anonymous and reach out to their local college or something about researching the origins of old legends and myths. But even then, when the tales were first told, it was a warning to warriors and travelers to keep their wits and protect their families. As time wore on, it became a mother's tale to keep children in bed and in the house during the night. They had to have something right?

Scouring more, he nudged books this way and that, peering over every cover. The librarian assistant said those were their only mythology books. They might have a book of interest in the history section, but that was even more fruitless. I mean, it talked a little about supposed creation and the spawning of the empress of the Void-land, aka the dimension known as the End. And Steven wasn't interested in that.

Steven grew irate and is ready to head out and call it a day until his foot hit something. Something close to the bookshelf. Peering down, its rectangular face was covered in a blanket of dust over its dark leather skin. It peeked out from under the space below the lowest bookshelf.

He brought out the book and blew away the dust, coughing as it flew into his face. Good move. It's old and it looked about hours away from being moth-eaten. One large rusted clasp over the cover. The binds in the spine a dirty red and frayed. It held no title on the outside except for 'journal' but thick in width. A good two hundred pages even. Steven sat back down and peeled open the first page. In gold calligraphy, the words…

' _ Herobrine: A Personal Account Journal... _ '

"By Gershwin Malcolm Stephen of Northern Iron-Cliff." Steven read aloud. There was the bastard's name! Herobrine! An entire journal about him! It can't be… his luck but be insane! The leather cover was indeed different from any other published journal he'd found.

The gold clasp on the front, upon closer inspection: hosted a delicately carved family crest depicting a pickaxe and a sword with some sort of four-sided gem in front. Vaguely familiar in a sense. The title in golden calligraphy, the ratty condition, clear pencil marking, is… is that a coffee stain?

Flipping through the pages, it was all handwritten. Steven couldn't believe his very eyes. The last name of the author was also peculiar... Iron-Cliff...

"Ey, never seen a book like that in me library before."

Steven jerked at the sound, it was the librarian. Those beady green eyes contrasting his tanned and freckled complexion. White hairs sticking out of his fuzzy beard, tunic grey and under a vest made of some sort of shaggy pelt. He reminded Steven of a lumberjack who does part-time at the local library. The librarian sauntered over to Steven, eyes suspicious of the book.

"Don't remember getting me a book like that, and I've had this 'ere place open since I was a wee lad!" The librarian paused over Steven's shoulder, "May I?" He said as he shifted to Steven's side, holding out his hand for the book.

The librarian inspected the journal, searching for a specific piece of information. He flipped to the first page and scowled, and continued flipping. He closed the book and turned it over again. The older man shrugged and put the book down, brows furrowed in confusion. Then after a few glimpses of confusion, understand dawned on his pepper colored furry brows.

"Aye lad, this be a journal left by a traveling wanderer a good month back. Feller was bald but had a beard bushier than mine, heh. Must have left the bloody thing here and had me assistant put it under one of the shelves. Don't think anybody's going to claim it now, anyways. People have been shying away from our history and thinking towards more recent stories. Younger folk I tell ya. I'll sell it to ya for… five coppers pieces."

"But… it's not yours though, what if the traveler-"

"Rubbish! Any book left in my care and not returned for by two weeks belongs to the library. It be the rules. Doubt the feller will return."

"Just five coppers then?"

"Aye, that be it. Don't want it, nobody will read the bloody thing, I tried but every page has these strange runes and such. It be giving me some bad feelings when I close up. Go ahead, five coppers and the thing's yours. Can't live off of late fees forever." The librarian laughed, crossing his arms.

Steven gingerly took the book and flipped to the first page with words. These aren't just some untranslatable runes, they look as natural as common text. But Steven couldn't understand why. This guy probably needs glasses. Steven hastily dug through his bag and handed the librarian a silver piece and looked at the book. 

he librarian took both to the checkout counter and did his things and gave Steven what remains of his payment. Steven leaned over and plucked the book off the counter, inspecting the new tome permanently in his possession. I mean, Iron-Cliff. Of Northern Iron-Cliff, the same surname as Steven and maybe an ancestor of his?

Funny thought.

"Oh, uh… thank you?" Steven whispered as he perused through the book. The runes all made sense, they were a little scrambled and strange but he could understand it, like common text.

"No, lad, thank you. 'n if you ever need some transcribers, I got a few charts to decode that book there. Last time I checked, the bloody thing is written Ghillish runes."

"The first written lexicon of the earliest recorded civilization?" Steven mumbled as he himself inspected the book further.

"Correct, n' no need to be so descriptive, lad. I still have me wits."

"That's funny…"

The librarian leaned over the counter, "What are ye getting at there, lad."

"Ah nothing, just thinking."

"Anyways, it's getting late. Best we both get to our beds, eh?" The librarian waved as he put away a few stray books and scuttled around the room, locking the windows and storage boxes around the place. Steven hummed as he gently placed the book into his bag.

Steven felt like a little child getting a sweet from the candy store. He rushed to the inn, passing the small number of natives herding sheep and tending to their late afternoon jobs. Shepherd dogs bounding through the dirt roads as children squealed in delight, parents scolding children to bed, old women in the same freckled complexions tending the last threads of their looms, the weary herders guiding their flocks into the safety of a pen nearby.

Steven peered up at the dying light, thirty minutes until it would be completely dark. A cat mewed at Steven as he passed and purred as the adventurer reached down to pet it's long fluffy grey coat. Knowing blue eyes glanced back as the young man walked off, following his form until stretching and yawning back into a peaceful slumber.

The cottages here are made of stone from the foundation, from the second half of the walls were the sturdy log walls and earthy insulated plaster that sealed the cracks. The windows are warped glass, just enough to see decently out of. One by one, people leaned out and closed their shutters, locked their doors, and leave a small light to peer out of the remains of the windows.

A warm feeling curled in his chest as the rays of dusk settled over the village and the peaceful aura of pleasantness.

The bell tower of the village's church rang seven times, then the sun receded from view. Basking the earth in a dark shroud. The guards marched by as they took to their posts, Alex in her green tunic and iron armor in the distance giving the rundown to a few younger recruits as other guardsmen scuttled around them. The gates at the north and south ground to a close as Steven reached for the inn's door.

He waved at the old innkeeper as he passed and pulled himself up the stairs to the second floor. Luckily, Alex was able to barter her way into paying two rooms for the price of one, somehow. Steven opened the door to his room and let his bag drop into the chair.

It's a small room, one bed, on one side and then a table, chair, and dresser on the other.

Steven kicked off his shoes and changed into some soft sleep pants. Despite the coldness of the air outside, he felt better just discarding his shirt. He grabbed the strange book and climbed into bed. He flipped to the first page after the title and started reading. Just like that, words made sense.

This isn't like the sudden understanding after learning a new language one would have worked hard to understand. He never learned one like this. Steven was raised in a dialect so foreign it might as well be its own language up north, and even his second language, common, was shaky at times. But both languages shared a lexicon.

He only knows two modern languages and can recognize a few runes, but never a third.

'The b _ eginning… 'A child formed by the mist and spawned from the void. At first a Demigod* in essence, the first in existence. A restless one at that, always begging for adventure and trained in what could be called the early Aether. After being sent to the mortal plane… _ '

There's a large footnote…

_ '*Supposedly the first living creation, right before...(This part was scratched out). Capable of shapeshifting, transmutation, possession, and immense, magical-arcane prowess. They are the natural-born protector of the Realms and constantly seeks a purpose no matter how great or small, _ '

Steven felt a giddiness bubble in his chest as information processed. Pages upon pages, he was engrossed in the text. Footnotes, extra information. At one point, there was red ink on the page, adding more information in the same text font. Each part was as detailed as the last. Steven has no idea why this demigod has entranced his attention and wonder but it irked him. Then he flipped to the next page.

Maybe it was the fear looming over his soul, maybe for peace of mind.

Pages and pages of the retelling of the beginning and just things about early life that didn't just pertain to the demigod. Yet at the same time, many names were scratched out and notes along the margins spoke of warnings and other notes. But then Steven came upon a mostly blank page. Except...

' _ Portrait redrawing commissioned from Gilbert S. Coulson: "The Man Himself _ "

Another footnote…

' _ *Note to self: 'image provided by Gilbert after a freak dream of his. Drawn during some tea and coffee, also the best damn seer I know. Was able to draw this out in about a dozen minutes. _ '

But what really shocked Steven is when he turned his eyes to the actual image. The man… it looks exactly like him. Rectangular face, round eyes, wide nose, defined brows, and somehow a perfect match of his stubble. Exactly the same face he saw at the portal.

Steven scrambled to the dresser, throwing off the red blanket, and looked into the mirror that hung above it. He stared fearfully at his face.

Young, hopeful, alive. Eyes a bright and lively indigo, like blue sapphires crystals that show the deep amethyst undertones in the sunlight, dark brown shaggy hair that fell into his face with wild untamed locks of curls, and his tanned dark complexion only lightly scarred, there's nothing that wasn't out of the ordinary.

He was told he has a soft jawline yet defined chin, a wide nose, soft eyes round eyes, and thick brows. Not a difference nor tan-line from his neck to his bare chest… He rubbed the shadow of a beard on his jaw as he peered at the image again. He held the book up to the mirror and compared it.

How the drawing looked so life-like it irked Steven. He wasn't going crazy when he thought the demigod stole his face. Though note the sharper nose and defined jawline, he had a face like that the entire time. Before Steven's great-great-great-great-grandparents were even a thought.

Steven gently eased the book on the dresser and backed away, his back facing the bed as he sat down on the red wool blanket.

It's just a drawing, it can't be exactly life-like. Probably coincidence the artist portrayed the demigod with such a face. Yet as Steven recalled, it looks almost identical. Steven warred with himself as he looked to the door, then the window, to the mirror, and lastly the open book right under it.

Why was he panicking? Why was he overreacting? He trudged over back to the dresser, curiosity twist ideas in his gut as his throat went dry.

Peeling the page back, there's another footnote in red ink…

" _ Coulson is known as the greatest lifelike artist in the lands, he is known for his renowned ability in capturing a person's likeness like a mirror. Thought to be blessed by a muse themself along with a gift of great-seer. Even told me that the demigod and I have an eerie resemblance... _ "

Steven stared at the last sentence. 'Even told me that the demigod and I have an eerie resemblance...' How that could be... was it a curse? Just pure coincidence. If Gershwin-Stephen looked almost exactly like the demon, then... There must be a correlation between the three of them. At least between Steven and Stephen. No! It's just random speculation.

That can't be...

Steven wanted to wake up the next day and find himself just at day one when they entered the village. That this was all one incredibly long and detailed fever dream. That he could just forget about mining and move on to another city. Is the cold really getting to him that bad? Sure does seem like it. He doesn't even feel faint from an illness. Steven let his bare feet lift from the ground as he slipped under the warm covers. His eyes glaring at the leather-bound book on the dresser beneath the mirror. Discomfort and the overwhelming feeling of distress crushing him the longer he looked. The lingering feeling of the demon's presence has him on edge.

Hopefully, he can sleep tonight.

…

Skeletons, why did it have to be skeletons. They're easy to deal with but once you have one with a projectile shit goes down. They can't hit worth a damn, a bruise at majority with those blunt and weathered weapons. But if you don't have any remorse, tendons, or muscles to shake, they have a dead-on aim. Luckily all these bleached white piles of bones only held heavily damaged stone swords and such, easy to cut down and evade.

None of them could land a strike either by sheer speed of the defenders or the snipers above on the ramparts and trees. The vacancy of cartilage and tendons previously mentioned making the fiends weaker than twigs. But in exchange, they understood no pain or remorse, as previously stated. Terrifying creatures of war (other than the endermen and some variants of creepers) have a sense of sentience and intelligence.

Alex huffed as another wave came through, hidden in the bushes while the first ones tried to finish them off. They aren't doing very well and the garrison is doing quite the opposite despite the reports she was given before leaving to assess the problem here.

She promised to help defend the gates yesterday during practice and so she must uphold it, it's been a while since she's been in a good fight and at this rate, a perfect victory. And just her giddy luck, this hoard seemed to be focused on the southern gate. Note without sarcasm for once. She stepped back for a breather. Surveying the skirmish with experienced eyes.

"Conor! Einry! Cover me, Show me what you've learned!" She yelled over the clacking of bones.

Two young men, dressed in chainmail bodices and green tunics jumped forward. Their silver helmets glistening in the torchlight from the gate. She saw how their boots dug into the ground and how their stance stood at shoulder width. One leg in front of the other. Their longswords held the reverse 'ox' position over their heads. Waiting for a strike.

A group of skeletons charged the two trainees. Conor struck down, effectively shattering the ribcage of the skeleton, disassembling the bone creature. Einry whirled the sword over his head and let the momentum pull-down and slice into another and the remaining energy carried through and moved up and dislodged the rib of another that came next to him.

"No fancy footwork, boys! Just move! One foot after another! Keep your balance!" Alex yelled to them, picking her sword up and aiming for a different group of those bleached skeletons. She blocked and pushed a few of the skeletons away. Digging her blade into the bone and tearing apart joints with ease.

"Yes, Ma'am!" The two brothers called in unison. One clean move after another, they slowly walked forward as more skeleton's swarmed them. Alex squinted for anyone in the flurry of the hoard. There were many, but the ones up front were doing their job of thinning them out.

Suddenly two were upon her, she jumped by surprise and swung her sword. Then, an arrow lodged itself in one of the fiend's skulls and let it crumble. The other was dealt with swiftly as Alex peered at the ramparts. A hooded figure giving a thumbs up before reloading their bow and aiming further in the fray. The archers are finally here.

Turning on her heels with a grin, "Masha! Kim! Go help the Brothers!" Alex pointed her sword in the direction of Conor and Einry.

The two female recruits rushed to the brother's aid, "Got it!" They called letting the brothers fall back to guard the gate behind them for a breather.

Alex is able to see the small squad of recruits defending the gate extremely well. Older veterans leaving piles, upon mounds of bones and calcium dust in their wake. The defense was going better than expected. Probably because of the extra help from the young recruits.

The squabble slowed down and the number of bone fiends began to dwindle. Some are smacked down easily and others flee the scene. The battle is short-lived as many of the fighters on both sides retreat as the lightless moon hung overhead. All the squads regroup at the gate, silently watching the fiends return into the forest. One of the skeletons turns to them, staring at a sign of a silent truce for that night. The leader presumably. It stares with empty round sockets. Its bones rattle as it steps. The last of its comrades retreat with defeat as it stands unmoving in the brush.

Nobody makes a sound, nobody makes a jeer. Only the lightless moon and the distant twinkling stars. The clouds roll over the mountains and the breeze brings its cold air. Alex only glares back to the skeleton. When fighting the night-creatures, to jeer is a death wish. A vocal sign of weakness. They'll only come back harder. To stand silently is a warning, to show through actions that the next fight will be worse.

The skeleton turns and ducks into the foliage. The last of the undead skeleton creatures disappear into the weaving of the evergreen trees. The clearing between the wilderness and the gate silent as people slowly let down their guard. A chorus of distant howls and the very, very faint clattering of remaining bones. A peace short-lived.

Alex looks to the squad leaders and the few captains, "Hopefully that will take care of that problem for the next couple of months. Let's head inside, it's been a long night." A beat of silence as the platoons register her words. Slowly, men and women slowly withdraw their swords and retreat.

Everyone disperses into their respective places, a few go to the barracks, others head to their homes, some just disappear. Alex makes her way back to the inn, wishing she could have just used her bow. But no. She had to train recruits who were actually pretty decent and most were quick learners.

  
  


...

Her sword felt like the weight of a large horse on her back as she dragged her tired feet to the inn's door. Alex could sense the heat of a roaring fire and sounds of late-night merriment from the other side of the door. She pushed through to see a scene that could only be explained as mirthful comradeship

It's almost an hour before midnight, yet this band of young men and women danced around the room. A few she could recognize as the recruits from the garrison.

Tables and chairs, stacked away and pushed to the far corners as a quartet of bards strum and perform their songs. Glasses clink in the background as friends have late-night drinks and chatter amongst each other. The pale moonlight mixes with the warm radiance of the candles and sconces. Unable to compete with the deer antler chandelier in the center of the tavern.

Alex made her way to the counter, finally realizing how peckish she actually is, "Good-evening, what's on the tap?"

The greying barman glances up, behind the signs of age rises mirth and jovial nature, "Ah, it be the house special, lass. A beer brew made of sweet mount' flowers 'n a bit of honey. Ain't much alcohol as it is sweet."

Alex ponders for a second before reaching to her money-purse, "How much for a drink and..." She looks off to the side to where the pastries are presented, "And a biscuit?"

"Ah, well fer you... lemme see 'ere." He begins flipping through pages of his notebook, "...five silver and a complementary performance!" He laughs as he motions to the quartet and the patrons dancing merrily away. He laid the biscuit, wrapped neatly in a paper, on the counter.

Alex nodded along as she drifted away from the counter, unwrapping the fresh biscuit. After the barman ducked behind the kitchen door, Alex sat at a booth that was uninhabited and untouched. She felt her mind sway and lull with the rhythm of the guitar and fingers dance across the table like the fiddler's rapid notes.

The pieces sounded familiar, a dance of sorts she heard at a tavern before but not that popular. The rhythm is a quick waltz where the melody swung in beats of three.

Or maybe six according to the fast pace.

Alex shook her head as she warmly smiled at the young folk twirling and enjoying themselves this calm night. Drinks were passed around as a grey-haired old woman came from behind the counter. The dark and freckled complexion, and a cream stained apron tied around her blue dress.

A spunk in her step as she meticulously and flawlessly weaved around the crowd. Black slippers noiselessly danced along to the beat as drinks were swiped from the tray she held in a single hand.

Pints raised in cheers as glass clinking as foam caught on young men's beards. The old lady finally landed on Alex and settled the drink before Alex. Alex gave her thanks as the energetic old woman winked and danced away back to the counter to also observe the crowd, a genuine smile upon her lips.

As if reminiscing about another time.

The beer, true to what the barman had described, was more of a bittersweet with a mild burning aftertaste, yet a floral aroma beneath the scent of the fermented wheat and hops. No wonder it was a house favorite. The beer was golden and translucent in hue, creamy foam at the top as actual flower petals swirled in the alcoholic drink. Though he lied about the content; halfway through the drink she had a mild buzz and needed another pastry.

"Oi! Moira! Where's yer husband?" A young lady called, smoothing out her skirt after the song had ended.

"In the back, dear, the oaf needed to grab the second barrel after you young folk dripped the last one dry!" The older woman chided back. The buzzed crowd gave a rally of cheers and laughter.

Alex remained in her seat for a good hour, listening through the array of different songs, slowly the makeshift band slowly evolved into playing a series of ballads. Many of the folk had drifted off, some left to their homes as others resigned to their seats amongst friends.

Even the owner of the tavern, Joel, Alex learned through the playful banter tossed around.

Until a piece picks up. Bitter and sour in her mouth as it makes her belly churn. A swaying melody with ravaging but quiet thrums of the drum. The thrill of the flute carrying the undertones as the violin pushes in tempo, a minor and sad key growing desperate until it crescendos into a Galant march where the dancer sway and dance in energetic circles. The song of a prophecy. A poem she'd heard too many times before.

'To arms! To arms! The Soldier calls to the crowd.'

'The beast! The Beast! Hide no more in the shroud.'

The bard clearly having too much fun with the song, he knocks his hips playfully with his buddies. Sending all into fits of laughter as they continue their accompaniment.

'Go on! Go on! Cleanse the End with aether fire.’

'Fight strong! Fight strong! We'll smother its plague 'n it's ire.'

The song continued, speaking of a great soldier that would command an army of over-world inhabitants that will siege the realm of the End and stop some plague created by some godly beast. Alex had heard this tale far too many times and in so many different variations and mediums, she'd lost count.

Well, when your great-great-(quite sure there are at least ten more greats in there)-grandparent was some chosen one of the mythic era, who passed on a reigning legacy to common day, it was hard to not be subjected to rumors of carrying the mantle.

And by Jeb she loathed it.

The rest of the song droned out as Alex was thrown into a sour mood. She had no direct ties to it, she just flat out hated any mention of that blasted thing. The only proof of this prophecy was... no, best ignore it. But then again, magic is fickle, but it never lies. All mysteries that only she, herself knows and doesn't know.

Then there was whatever muck Steven had thrown himself into. She had stuck by the miner long enough to know this was a normal Tuesday for him. Though just a bit more deadly and possibly world-ending than the average day in life.

Slowly, more songs came and flew off the musicians' instruments as the hour donned midnight. The innkeeper, Moira, shooed the rest of the party-goers out of her husband's establishment and waved to the remaining room-renters goodnight. Which was only Alex really. Fire now only meek embers in the hearth.

A mellow whistle of the mountain breeze passing over the outside walls. Only a few candles were left flickering as the tavern owner scrubbed the tables. Along with age, a weariness of another late night hung on his back.

Alex felt no need to rest now after-effects of the fight still in her system left her anxious and jumpy. A state almost impossible for her to even try and get some shut-eye. With a tap upon the table's surface, she prepared to leave. Only the creaking of floorboards right next to her held her in place. The tavern owner, Joel, occupied the seat opposite of her. A melancholy look upon his brow and a semi-hopeful smile.

"Aye, lass? I just want t' thank ye fer helping our little town 'ere." The tavern owner started, fatigue clear in his deep voice. Alex looked up to meet his deep brown eyes, beneath the greyed bushy brows, "Never seen them youngsters so happy. Guess those attacks really got 'em concerned and wary, a few asked me to send a couple a drink yer way."

"The attacks, how bad are they usually? I don't mean to sound anything other than concerned."

The tavern owner looked away with a distant melancholy gaze, "A couple of years back, when we had our militia nice 'n tidy. A lad, honorable but too cocky fer his own good, made a jeer as them bone feints as they continued their assault."

Alex looked away as she listened to the man's story. Her green tunic felt as if it was thin paper the chills she got as the old man continued. It was a sense of fear, adrenaline. She couldn't tell if it was some mystical sixth sense of her surroundings or the old man's tale struck a chord so deep within her. But chills wrought upon her skin as her heartbeat quickened.

But then the feeling went away. It's late and she had a drink, her mind was always an active one at night. 

"Next thing you know, the lad was dead later that evening. Rusty arrows sticking out of 'is armor. Then, them fiends came back in force maimed much of our militia. We had to send a courier for help. Aye, we townsfolk thought that rumor was a rumor. But... then them skeletons started roamin’ the roads that our main traders stopped comin' up this way, we were starved of gold and supplies." The tavern owner concluded, mist caught in his eyes.

"When I was outside of the gate, nothing but swordsmen as shoddy as they were. But none fired an arrow that wasn't one of the village’s archers. My report specifically noted skeleton archers within the fray?"

"Aye, you must 'ave heard them wolves out 'n the forest, no? Sneaky little bastards that followed our sheep, but they take care of the skeletons, most are too afraid to even get close to this settlement and our sheep and kept within the gates or the few barns nearby."

Alex just nodded her head, the large dark wooden structures indeed had many of the fluffy sheep milling about, "I hope I made a difference here, it's truly a very lovely place."

"It ain't much, lassie, but Ovinehold is as peaceful as you can get nowadays. I remember when I was a wee lad, tendin' to the farmer's sheep t' buy me a ticket to see the world. I traveled to almost every major city along them trade routes, and finally came back home, got married, and opened shop. It's a life well lived I would say."

Alex could only nod along, sympathetic to his anecdote as she straightened herself out, "I only wish I could live to see a day as happy as your sir, it's also very late. Don't want to keep your wife waiting, hm?"

"Bah!" The barman clapped, "My Moira falls asleep at midnight and wakes up at the crack of noon, she's ain't missing much, lass."

Alex only laughed, "Ha, well, I must retire for the long road ahead. Goodnight and thank you, sir, it's been a pleasure."

The barman shook his head, "No no, the pleasure's mine." and he got up and disappeared behind the kitchen door. His footsteps were distant to non-existent. Truly, the tavern was now desolate.

The warrior made her way up the stairs, that feeling from before... it just wouldn't go away. As she turned on the second half of the staircase, a peculiar scent of dew, salt, sulphur, and ash hit her face. That chilling feeling constricting her throat as her heart thumped in her ears.

Alex is confused as to why she is feeling like this. Maybe she should stop having drinks, as sparse as they are, if it's going to make her jumpy like this. Concerning, but explainable, she cautiously moved forward, watching her steps as green eyes darted from place to place.

She tried to pinpoint the source. Goosebumps rose on her skin as her hands began to tremble.

At the end of the hallway, the door after her's, Alex's eyes landed on a large form. Tousled hair and a bulky mass. Square back facing her. Cyan shirt and deep blue pants in whatever light was left in the hallway, a candle burning blue. Those old grey boots caked in mud, yet no trace across the floor.

Alex rolled her eyes as Steven stood deathly still and silent, probably trying to scare her like he sometimes does. Maybe this is payback for the bucket the other day...

"Stevie? That you? It's like ten past midnight why… why are you wet?"

Indeed it's the miner in his cyan shirt standing in the middle of the hall. He looks a little roughed up though like he was tossed into a pond… and larger? His clothes sure have seen better days. He must have put some real thought into this prank for digging deep to find such worn-out clothes. But even with her one drink, things felt off. Acutely off.

A gut feeling that made her want to run and hide.

"Hey, Stone-man, what's going on here?"

Truth be told, Steven was tall. Bit so was she, clocking in at about six foot seven or two meters exact. She always playfully picked on him for towering over most folk. Yet, she felt deeply intimidated for no reason. Heck, Steven is the one intimidated by Alex! And they are the same size.

Yet... Steven still doesn't move as she draws ever nearer, he just stands frozen in the hallway slowly dripping. The smell of salt, iron, and sulfur imminent in the area. Pungent. Steven's back remains towards Alex. Alex is definitely sure he's probably trying to frighten her. She shakes her head and scoffs.

"Steven, I'm not in the mood for your games. Wash up and go to bed, you smell like you jumped into a bucket of chum that's been sitting in a brine for a couple of days." Alex snorted, inching closer. 

The smell was of dying fires and ash pungent in the immediate area around them.

Steven looked up to the window, humming in a dark low pitch that could be described as raspy and sore, " _ So his name is Steven? _ "

Alex felt her heart lurch into her throat. Whatever voice that she just heard, was nothing like Steven's smooth and unique voice. A pulse rising in speed as the man she thought was Steven slowly stretches his muscles. Water dripped slowly to the floor.

No, not water. Blood. Blood mixed with ash and other debris. Claw marks covered his limbs and legs, greyed fur remains clinging to his pants. The wolves... The warrior swallowed the lump in her throat.

Alex unsheathes her sword, "Name yourself!" She snarls.

The not Steven turned his head to the side, cracking his neck. He says nothing as he rolls his back, popping of joints sent alarmed shivers down Alex's back. She felt her heart lurch into her throat and stomach drop as waves of an unknown force instilled unwarranted anxiety through her veins.

Her vibrant green eyes flashed anger and fear.

'Pitter Patter Pitter Patter.' It started to rain outside the window.

The being slowly turned its head over its shoulder. The being opened his eyes with a clap of lighting! A long drawn out purr of thunder echoing after as he gave a toothy grin. Sharp fang-like canines evident in the cruelly wide smirk.

Piercing white eyes shaking her to her core. Sparks of electric energy jumping around as the demon's dangerous aura.

Alex readied her blade, the tip aimed at the neck of the man. With another flash of lighting, the demon is gone. Alex swallowed as she spun around, looking either way of the hall. Even scrambling to the stairway to check.

Another clap of thunder in the distance.

Other than that, not a sound was heard, nothing but the rain pattering on the windows and the howling gale of the wind. She pursed her lips and turned on her heels to enter her own room. When a male shriek echoed from the door she stood in front of.

Making her blood turn to ice.

“ **NO!** ”

…

  
  


_ (A.N. I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!) _

  
  


...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Alex believes him now? Now how about that...


	3. On the Dirt Road

**This chapter was edited on 6/24/2020**

_ Content Warning: the beginning of this chapter contains descriptions of gore that some readers may find upsetting or unsettling. Please read at your own discretion.  _

...

Excerpt from a book manuscript on Mojanian Magic found on a professor's desk...

_ “... Magic surrounds us all. It’s just a matter of who can sense it the best, or manipulate it best. It depends on who you ask. The magic that is best known to mortals can be put into three categories: Alchemy, enchanting, and divination (or seers for those who prefer a simpler vocabulary). But also there exists a fourth category that cannot apply to us mortal humans and the like. There is almost an infinite amount of arcane that us mortals can’t comprehend or fathom, let alone attempt to harness. Much like teleportation, breathing fire, or controlling the weather. Only a certain type of entity can utilize such abilities but to speak of them is a magical curse in itself. But the three main categories are briefly as follows: _

__

_ ALCHEMY: I hear your furrowing brows, Alchemy? Ain’t that just mixing a bunch of roots together and suddenly you could breathe fire? But it’s more than I assure you, stir it too much and you no longer have a house. Stir too little and you have fancy slime that will also try to burn down your house. Even then, each alchemist adds a spice of their own magic in the most potent of potions, that’s what makes them work. Not anyone can mash a nether-wart and some creams together to make a fire-resistance potion. Other than master-to-student means of learning, alchemy is inborn or difficult magic to learn. As I continue to repeat, everyone can mix nether-warts and a glistening melon but only those adept in alchemy magic can turn it from fancy sludge into a potion that can change the tides of a battle. _

__

_ ENCHANTING: Enchanting speaks for itself. Harnessing the raw magic around and concentrating it to imbue into a tool or weapon of choice. Despite the relatively quick process people describe, enchanting is in fact incredibly difficult. It takes a true master to make a Mastercraft but even then, they can’t even fathom the possibilities of this art. Enchanting is based on some concept named experience and requires a very book heavy setup. Other than the fact that enchantment pulls its power from the environment, it uses books and tomes to translate those abilities into something we can comprehend and then refined again by means of the main book so it can be engraved into the item desired. Experience, on the other hand, is very unknown, very few can see it and has been described as small marble-sized orbs that glow brilliant lime-green, white, and yellow and ring like bells when you gain it. But that requires a very sensitive individual, most of the best enchanters have this sensitivity but it is not necessary. Though the more experience a person has collected, the more potent these enchantments are. A college in Jenora is actively studying the experience concept. _

__

_ DIVINATION: Ah, where would we be without our seers. Stumbling blindly into another plague, that’s what! It is a true mystery on how seers are chosen, more of born really. These select few are able to recall past events in excruciating detail and understand the most plausible outcome of the future. It is believed that the more sentient of creatures have the same ability but are unable to decipher their dreams. These people are the most sensitive to the arcane out of all listed and are sought after by sovereigns and the like. There exists a special variant, a dream-walker who can construct dreamscapes and converse with a multitude of entities without actually being face to face. Most seers can only see the most definite outcome at that specific moment, and possibly have a vision of the same event changing drastically within the hour, not very reliable for the future but a major assistant for past details... _

__

_...Magic as if you could probably tell, is very elusive in its origin. Despite it affecting our lives as constantly as it is, as stated before in chapter thirteen, we have no idea where it truly comes from. Our best guess is that it permeates from the other realms within our legends. But how us mortals establish the connection to such arcane is a tricky one. It’s said that only our subconscious can detect the faintest vibration of magic. We can’t use our normal senses to comprehend it, it just happens. It requires more sensitive and hypothetical senses, like the subconscious. Concepts we cannot fathom unless we forget about how reality works and just see it tied to the picture, like those who are sensitive enough to use it can sense the other little fibers that bind it together... _

__

_ -Excerpt of “Minecraftian Magic 101: For Beginners, Chapter One: Quick Introduction for People Who Have Other Things to do.” Pre-publish manuscript. This guide is highly outdated and very incorrect as magic isn’t limited to just these. _

...

CHAPTER III: On the Dirt Road

...

Steven found himself in a forest, dark and shadowed. The thick foliage of the trees weaved together to block any form of sunlight from touching the dead forest floor. Jagged pebbles and limp blades of grass at his feet as curling gnarled fingers for branches weaved like knitted fabric. Not a sound but his labored breathing. He was out of breath, the feeling of sweat running down his brow and soaking his teal shirt.

What was he running from?

Why does he ache?

The crunching of dead leaves behind him like sandpaper in his ears, loud and clear. A warning. Steven jumped as he whipped around, prying for the source. His hyperventilating breath was sporadic. Something moved from his peripheral vision. Gone the next second. A flurry of unfocused teal, dark skin, and... bleak white. Like stars on a moonless night, so unnerving and unsettling. Not a friend, never was a friend. A foe engraved deep within history, a hunter who harnessed the light of the stars to light his path on his midnight hunts.

Steven stumbled backward away from the sudden movement, the stinging of sharp rocks and thorns digging up into his bare feet. He ran, farther than he could imagine. The branches of the bushed striking red as his legs are gashed raw. The paler part of his palms were littered with scraps and dirt.

The chilling breeze hit worse as he pushed his aching body further. Pants muddy and frayed, his favorite teal shirt littered with rips, tiniest beads of sweat on his brow, dried by the blowing wind. Dark curly hair flying into his eyes at every second.

A shadow lurked in the trees. Its eyes glowing menacingly bright as whimsy white tails pour out like fog curling in a breeze. Steven urged his feet to run farther. Escape the death grip upon his soul. He looked for an anomaly. Something to lose the demon. Yet the forest never ended, no meadow, not even a speckle of sunlight filtered through the heavy foliage of the trees. Perfect conditions for an army of undead or a platoon of skeletons.

He half expected a pack of creepers to come popping out of every bush he pasts, to explode and send him tumbling and vulnerable. Craggy rocks and gnarled tree roots struck his footing every time he passed. Nothing but a murk surrounded him, not even a zombie or skeleton he thought of.

It was silent save for the erratic crunching of dead leaves and grass under his feet.

His pulse was frantic as the air of the hunting entity was growing thicker. A cold and menacing vibration that rattled his soul. The demon was right behind him and Steven knew it. It was a glimpse, and the gleam of the diamond pickaxe strapped to the demon’s side had Steven cursing the being’s name. Flashes of both heats described in tales of the Nether: a realm of fire, lava, and the damned; and cold described in the empty void of the End, the one thing that surrounds the entire realm.

With the situation at hand, Steven knew he was playing right into the demon’s game, and at this point? If he’s going to die why not make him work for it. His presence of the demon dissolved but those gleaming eyes burned almost tangible targets right into his back. Steven pushed farther.

Everywhere he glanced, the being was there. Until he wasn’t, no form or trace as Steven never let his pace falter. Adrenaline made sure of that.

The miner was so caught up in looking for the being around him he slammed right into a tree! All air was knocked out of his lungs as he gasped for any release. The whine his voice made as the air was strangled back as his frantic heart beat faster.

Steven lurched to his feet, ignoring the pain radiating from his face and his chest. He once throat wheezed as he found difficulty in finding any purchase of air.

A threatening and animalistic growl sent the miner scrambling to his feet and continuing his sprint. The putrid scent of iron filling his nose the further he ran. The laceration on his nose and face, stinging his eyes as the rest of his body throbbed from the impact.

How he hadn’t collapsed right then and there was a mystery, one he would ponder about once he saved his sorry hide.

Steven was losing hope. Then, up ahead, light. Blurry and faded streaks of light. In the distance, it was a stark difference as a solid clearing of only grass. Trees thinning suddenly, saplings instead of towering giants.

A canopy of warmth in the unforgiving. A meadow, with light shining down. Sunlight. Radiant beams telling of a possible release. But as he drew closer, a gnarled root snapped at his foot and sent him tumbling towards the edge.

He laid on his side before raising himself to his hands and knees. Laying just before the first beam of the meadow. Coughing out dirt and dust in his nose that kicked up in his fall, something didn’t feel right. Something made Steven sick to his stomach yet the source unknown. Then it hit him, like a slap in the face.

The scent of boiling blood was back, something he wished to never come across again. Almost as if...

Steven looked up, and all life left in his body was gone.

His own corpse staring at the leaves of a non-existent sky. Speckles of sunlight filtered through the trees danced across a greyed face. A flawless diamond pick buried deep into his still chest. The ornate handle splattered with blood. His faded hand on his abdomen, limp from clutching the sparkling weapon.

Fresh blood pooling around the barely warm body. His bright indigo eyes dull and pale in this demented mirror. His mouth poised in a relaxed yell for help as blood dripped from the corners. Massive bruises and waxy off-color complexion had the real and alive Steven doubling over as tears stung. Bile rose in his throat as the sight was burned in his mind.

His throat burned, his eyes burned, his nose burned. Hot horrified tears trailing down his face as this strange aura grew. This darkened haze, grass shriveled and consumed by an ash-like mold. Tiny flowers wilted and crumbled as the mold encased the blooms. It grew into a complete circle around his body yet it dared not to mess with his corpse.

Then the ground began to shift, like a serpent writhing beneath the earth. Ropes of charcoal vines unearthed themselves, grey thorns glinting in the light.

A halo of withering death.

A flash of cold washed over Steven's toes as something was writhing from beneath his feet. A stinging, then throbbing, like arrow tips digging into his ankles and calves. Steven looked down and to his horror chalky withered vines with sharp glistening thorns wrapped around his ankle. Steven began trembling as the cold explosion of anxiety burst in his chest, breathing labored, throat dry.

He tried leaping away from the vines but they squeezed back. He was grappled at his ankles, the vines holding him in place. He continued his struggle for it to release his feet. With fruitless kicks and jerks. His feet and calves were growing numb.

“What in the F-”

Steven's body went riding in shock as a fist grabbed the back of his shirt, pushing his forward to lay belly down in the grass. Steven yelped in horror as he was flipped onto his back as a large hand coiled around his neck.

The lower half of his body pinned at the hips by a heavier weight as the thorny vines contracted his legs. A pair of garish bright eyes, harsher than the stars, glaring right down at him. He could only wince in pain from the strain.

He squirmed in the grip, but everything was futile.

The white-eyed look alike fixated down with disgust and hatred. A sneer is evident as the being bared his fanged teeth. The demon’s face contorted from that of a sneer to a confounded scowl. The demigod glanced up at the disturbing sight of the miner’s corpse, surrounded in a halo of withering hazy decay.

The grimace faded as gleaming eyes never broke contact with the gruesome scene. A borderline worried look mixed with apathy. Unsure of the corpse’s position or the fact it was being surrounded by a halo of withering death.

Both were frozen in a pose, neither dared move. Steven staring at the demon on top of him, the demon staring at the miner’s corpse with a hand around the miner’s throat. The feeling of thorny vines, prickling like a rose bush, climbed farther up and reaching his thighs. Strangling the life out like a snake that has caught its prey.

Steven could see how weathered the being was. The dark bags beneath the passively glowing eyes. The series of clotted scratched and scabs. The demon’s grip was still as strong as ever but trembled ever so slightly. His arms riddled with other scratches and noticeably thinner. Dark skin displaying evident scars. The tattered clothing riddled with holes and tiny splotches of blood. Deep brown hair matted and beard unkempt. The only strength remaining was the ferocity in his eyes. It seemed as if mellow wisps of mist flowed from the glow of his eyes.

The being shook his head with renewed vigor, to Steven's distress.

Nothing could steer away from the horror of the demigod towering over him and the images of his own dead body burned into his head. The numb had reached past his waist. The sound of crackling and snapping closer as the lithe stems of the thorny vines writhing around crawled up from his legs and making way around his battered chest.

He struggled to breathe as the world grew darker and darker. Frantic aching lungs deprived of air. A desperate hand clasp around Herobrine’s wrist, clawing fruitlessly. It only made the demigod hold tighter.

“...p....please... not like...” A rasp hit his ear, his own voice. The Herobrine in this nightmare flinched at the sound of his voice, like sandpaper across his ears. But now it was nothing but the beating of his heart and his labored wheezing as the air was choked out from him.

“...n...”

His peripheral vision, a haze till a rim of void lined his tunneling vision. It quickly grew and overtook his vision as his last heartbeats thumbed in his head. The only thing in focus was the saddened face of the demigod as the world darkened.

But something remained.

Steven attempted his last breath until his mind gave out. His consciousness darkened further till it was a shadowy veil and a pair of stark white eyes inches from his own.

...

“ **NO!** ”

Steven lurched from the bed, sweat-soaked sheet painfully peeling away. His breaths ragged, heaving, and confused. The last bits of the thunder rolled away like sheets of rain pattered against the window.

His room was stuffy and untouched, a howling gale came from behind the curtain as flashes illuminated the tiny space. The air in the room stale and musty from his nightmare and apparent thrashing. The red blanket was strewn across the floor as his pillow slid off the mattress. It’s too hot in here.

Icky and nauseated. He struggled to keep his dinner down as phantom pains of the hand coiled around his throat. The poison-tipped thorns of the vines that strangled around his legs and chest. His hands ghosting around his neck, chest, and face. That dream… no… it’s stupid. But why did He look so... sad and sickly for a second?

His own mind was probably going insane, imagining human emotions on that demon. Steven sighed. It’s been a while since he’s had a nightmare that bad and yet, he can recall every little detail about it. All phantom pains dissolving away as he sat in his rented room. The remaining sheets over Steven's lap balled up in his fists as he willed the thoughts away. But they lingered, like the cold sweat upon his brow.

The events that had just transpired, fresh in his mind. As if he was really there. The soreness of his throat, he couldn’t feel his legs, the last waves of anxiety draining from his veins. He was gasping for air he thought he would never have. To top it all off, a strange feeling of a presence very familiar, sparked his senses. He wanted to run, to escape, but nothing happened. The feeling of being watched, he must be nearby- No!

It’s... it’s just paranoia.

He just sat upright on his bed, under the covers that still remained. Not daring to move an inch. The moon was a good bit past midnight to his assumption and going out at such an hour was a very problematic idea. His only option is the one he dreaded most. The only one he had to prepare for tomorrow’s journey.

But he looked at the clock and saw that he was barely asleep for an hour at most. It was indeed midnight and he last remembered the clock at about maybe thirty-past-ten? Or was it ten-to-eleven?

As he rested his head, nothing could stop his mind racing and the discomfort. He rose as he let his feet touch the cool floorboards, soothing his burning skin. He looked out the window and a slight drizzle sprinkled on the glass. He only had it open for a few minutes as he let his head and arms hang out of the window soak himself in the chilling drizzle.

The icy wind felt good as he lifted his chin and stretched. It ushered out the lingering anxiety-ridden gloom and replaced with fresh mountain air complete with a complementary chill.

His brow furrowed and any emotion fell as he looked out to the spruce trees that grew on the other side of the wall. Something weighed heavily on his heart as the thunder rolled in the distance. He sighed as he leaned back down. Who knows what might be on the other side of that wall right now.

Hell, with that sort of yell, someone is bound to be knocking at his door.

‘ _ knock knock. _ ’

Timed perfectly.

Steven sighed as he closed the window and cleaned himself up. Steven also tossed the trashed blanket back on the bed. He hesitated as his hand rested on the handle. There was no light from the other side but he had a suspicion.

“Stevie? I know you’re there. There’s-” Alex abruptly stopped.

“I’m fine, Alex, just a nightmare. Just head to bed.”

Steven could hear Alex sigh in exasperation, “Stevie, just open the door.”

Seeing he has no other choice, Steven opened the door and was immediately greeted with a sudden embrace. The surprise evaporated quickly and he returned the gesture to the green-tunic-wearing redhead. Her bow and sword still strapped to her traveling harness. She looked up at him, worry spread across her face.

His deep indigo eyes gazed at her vibrant green. She squeezed him for a second before letting go.

“Steven I-” Alex paused as she considered what to say, but the dark circles beneath her friend’s eyes told her enough, “I just wanted to check on you. I think it's best if we head out early tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Ah... G’night,” Steven replied as she gave him one last sad grin and turned to go into her room. Steven slid off his bed and gave her one last hug before he gently shut the door. With a sigh he pushed himself off the door and made his way back to his bed. The storm still pushed on as the drizzle drummed a soothing melody on the window, the scent of rain and dewy of nature that filtered through the cracks eased his nerves. Well, as much as they could anyways.

Laying down, he gave the mirror sitting over the dresser once last glance before closing his eyes and succumbing to the endless void of dreamless sleep. His clouded psyche more like a foggy expanse.

He drifted away, quicker than he would have hoped.

...

The next morning had been uneventful: Steven had awakened the fourth time with a jolt, another nightmare though not as bad as the first but clearly, something didn’t want him to sleep. He had dragged himself out of bed as groggily as humanly possible, made way to the stables, completely forgetting about breakfast as he asked the stablehand for the two horses to be prepped and ready by the next hour.

The cold did wake him up a little bit though. The previous night did not leave him well. Nightmare after nightmare, he couldn’t get a wink of sleep. Though none could compare to the first one for some reason despite waking up multiple times.

Alex had fared better that night, springing up and merrily leaving the inn. She had the idea of making way to the garrison tower and signing her report, nabbing the copy on her way out too.

As Alex opened the door of the inn, she was greeted with the sights of this morning merriment. The close-knit community bustling with life in the chilly early morning. She paused as she took in the sights before her, it will be a while before she even attempts to return to the village by her own will. She observed her last take of the community before heading off to the garrison tower.

Dew still clinging to the undersides of grass blades and faint reminiscence of mist huffed in front of everyone’s faces as the warm hot breath of the living came in contact with the cold dry air of the mountain biome. Peoples of the array bustling about. The old grandmothers tending to their looms, the old painter sipping his tea, the rowdy children playing with their sticks. A bundle and wrapped in heavy coats. A true homely place.

The houses huddled together, the grey stone creating a foundation as rich dark logs met halfway up and took over, the neutral clay plaster sealing the cracks and holes in-between the logs. The warped window panes were thrown open and shutters spread wide. The dewy grass upon each front was that pale green with hints of faded aqua blue and grey.

Sweet red berries dotted on thorny branches of the berry bushes as firs and mountain oaks filled in the larger gaps of space between buildings. Dark shingles roofs slanted held defined points as towers of red chimneys barely a few feet taller stuck out from the shingles, each one spewing smoke and the incense of the fir with every cloud.

Sheepdogs yelping and barking as they bound through the village, guiding sheep and pups wrestling with one another. Children doing the same as their elders prepared for the day's work. Nobody held a care for the world, each one minding their business. Ignorant to the danger they were in for a few moments the night before. But for them, ignorance is the better option at the moment.

She was already in and out of the garrison before she knew it. Catching a glimpse of Steven groggily speaking with the stable hand before trudging back to the inn. Alex thought for a moment, then the pain of hunger broke her out of her daze. Primetime for breakfast and hopefully Steven hadn’t ordered anything without her. He probably just got there.

Alex stepped through the door of the inn, hearth warmed air gently flowing her in the face as she entered. She saw Steven sit down in a corner booth, clearly tired and a clouded air in his posture. The man looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink in the past couple of days… Alex didn’t blame him. But he did look like absolute shit and someone needed to be vocal about it. The warrior approached the corner table, the scent of strong black coffee and a slice of sweet berry pie alerted her.

“Hey there Stevie, how are you holding up?”

Steven grumbled a reply, “ ‘m fine.”

Alex rolled her eyes and sat down on the other side of Steve, “Trust me, you do not look fine. Did you sleep at all?”

“No… at least I don’t feel like I slept a single bit,” There’s an ache in his voice, “The horses should be ready in a bit, just sat down” Steven glared at the cup of imported coffee cured in his palms. The hot ceramic warming his cold hands. He thumbs the rim of the mug, letting the steam roll around and into his face. Silently watching the liquid swirl.

“So… did ya order anything?” Alex asked, smoothing out her signature green tunic. Steven hummed a reply. Alex leaned back, “What did you get?”

“Eggs and bacon for me and the breakfast pastry platter for you.” Steven mumbled, “Don’t worry, I ordered creamer for your tea.”

“Ah, thank you. So… anything else happened last night?” Alex eyed him carefully. She could tell heavy bags beneath his indigo eyes as a demeanor very rare upon him. His face lost any of his usual glow.

“Nightmare after nightmare once fell asleep. I had multiple, first, it was the forest chased by you know who, second I was drowning, third I think I was a pet zombie to the bastard and last: it was similar to the first one, but this time I was being chased by a massive creature blacker than night and being burned in a fire so hot it was purple…or something like that. Other than that I cannot remember anything else for shit…”

“Probably for the best, shall we go?”

“Yeah.”

...

About a week later, hours from their final destination. Both companions were situated atop their horses as they continued wayward south. The earth still dewy as the storm days prior have lessened to drizzling and finally the sun peeked that morning. The trail is slightly muddy yet the horses have fared well in the less than suitable trail conditions.

Traveling the wilderness was uneventful and frankly boring in the most relieving of senses. Horses were a bit jumpier than normal and the occasional overgrown spider napping from the tall fir trees as they passed from below. No matter, it was as pleasantly boring as pleasantly boring can be. Even if the trade road was uneven and overgrown in some parts, and practically just plain old forest for the most of it.

Truth be told, every time they set up camp, Steven would dread it. The nightmares were relentless and more... violent and realistic the more he slept. He was growing anxious and indeed terrified, a feeling in the pit of his belly that wouldn’t go away.

Most night terrors ended in fog and some he couldn’t recall, but the ones he did always had some sort of correlation. A pattern that let him know he was dreaming. But lately, it’s been difficult to distinguish the real and the fake. A common symptom of the demon’s games, and he hated it.

Alex slowed her horse as she stopped in front of something.

She glanced up as a crumbling stone-brick tower laid near. Tattered banners of a long-gone pillager outpost still flowing as the tower looked like it was under construction before being plundered, as ironic as that is. Then she noticed the fine line between the tower and discarded tents in the clearing. The tower was farther than the tents but a separation was evident. It even had a slight curve as well.

“We’re entering the dead-zone,” Alex stated.

Steven nodded his head as he tore his eyes away from the dilapidated structure, “Gotcha.”

Despite the land being more settled than most others, the large spaces between towns and villages lie ruined settlements and decaying manors that littered the expanse. But they are indeed rare and everyone is too afraid to mark where these things are. From legends to curses to plain old logic, everyone had their ideas to explain why settlements out on their lonesome almost always fail.

Well part of that was a lie, most people do know where these things are, and the ones that succumb to it’s curse are the thick-headed and foolhardy who think they can best the ancient magic. But these places are very rare, landmarks that travelers know one should never stop at. The duo standing right in one. If they camped there tonight, certain death is imminent.

Well... within those very specific regions to be exact. Regions in perfect circles that dotted the landscape, in the center were always a strange structure: a cubic stronghold. Some that have explored it either come empty-handed or don’t come back at all. Though it varies, most have a pedestal for something but nobody has figured it out. Steven has a pretty good idea though, looking back on days prior and seeing one of these ruins himself. Was it mentioned that mobs are more active and violent in these areas? Stronger even.

Once clear of the area, Steven pointed out multiple places to stop at before they set up for the night. Yet his eyes wandered to the rest of the map that he held. A series of provinces and areas left ripe for exploring. Red ink marks and signature Alex scribbling, naming a few settlements and towns that have survived on their own for decades.

Other colors indicating points of interest across the entire map. Even showed an island far to the east, known to take about a month's time just to sail over there. If you survive the trip in the first place that is. His eyes glazed over to the red markings again, writing a mental note to the places they had passed.

Settlements like that the duo had left from days prior are very rare when traveling the frontier and the majority of the known world is taken up by said frontier dotted sparingly by clusters of towns and villages. It’s just a natural phenomenon that major cities are typically very few and are only recognized provinces typically house one to two major cities.

Like that of the Aeyr kingdom, the largest province, and the one with the most cities on this very continent.

Steven let his eyes move south to where fine red ink and an arrow pointing down to the very bottom of the map. ‘Farlands’ was hastily scribbled and a drawing of a skull and bones next to it. A lone continent across a wide channel. Nobody has ever known what they look like or how it’s like to go through. Many fear its influence may spread across the channel and infect the southern lands, but that hasn’t happened.

To explain the Farlands is that it’s a land of reality-gone-buck wild. An expanse once calm suddenly imbued with unstable arcane. Magic’s influence is stronger than reality. Places like this are lethal if one doesn’t take the right precautions.

There’s a reason no one dares talk about it.

Land that floats, turns upside down, fractures in impossibly straight lines, suddenly slow or fast forward time, gravity is reversed, forms cliffs in a blink of an eye, crops either don’t grow or suddenly mature as soon as they hit the earth, clouds either exist or don’t, trees and grass struggle to grow as roots are thwarted. But the coasts are considerably more tame than the interior, some say it’s the ocean and purifies and waters down the influence. At least to Steven's speculation.

Yet there exists a race of people, whose bodies have adapted to the harsh and unstable conditions of the Farlands. Precisely named, Farlanders. Steven remembers meeting many members of this race on his travels before. He was situated on the coast of the Farlands to inspect possible mining locations and caverns.

The majority of his adventuring group were native guides also curious of the caves and implored for a very experienced miner to follow them in case their trained eyes missed something.

Greyed completion upon their dark skin, boney and defined, eyes greyed to an almost white as they lacked any sort of pupil or iris, pieces of their body dissolved in the wind like dusty ash from a campfire but never showed any signs of weathering, their hair was dark and floated as if they were floating in water. Unstable magic radiated off of them.

A very mirror to the land to where they hailed from. They understand most things others don’t.

Steven blinked and shook his head after that large chunk of thought. He focused back on the task on hand. But a question did come up.

“Alex, have you used all your coins? Thinking of exchanging the remaining for emeralds at the next trading post.” Steven asked.

Alex shook her head, “No, still have a few left if you want them.”

“Thanks.” Steven paused, “I wouldn’t mind using emeralds all the time if they made the chunks smaller.”

“There would be more to go around.”

“Just turn in your emeralds and they would give you the new kind, have a special seal or something.”

“It doesn’t work like that Stevie,” Alex laughed, “Time and time again you show me how much of a forest-”

“—Cave—”

Alex snorted before continuing, “-Caveman you are. No, a miner who has seen civilization in days. Maybe even a mythical dwarf who hasn’t seen surface civilization in eons.”

“Sounds pretty legitimate for me.” Steven quipped adjusting himself on his horse.

Alex urged her horse a little ahead of her companion, “You are over six foot seven, no way in the Nether are you a descendant of one.”

“You brought it up!” He defended, urging his horse to catch up, “Who knows, maybe they were tall but nobody saw them to actually know?”

“Haha, whatever you nerd.” She called from over her shoulder, urging her horse into a canter ahead of him.

“Says the one who brought up dwarves!”

Alex only replied with a laugh.

Currently, on the map, Steven and Alex are currently in the northern part of Aeyr bordering a smaller country. The border was defined by a large and thin stretch of rolling hills and spotted mountains. They were heading south towards Wayshire, a commercial city, to find a boat that’ll take them back to the capital. For reasons Alex refuses to say. Steven has his own business there anyway.

Through the warm rays of the sun, Steven felt his eyes droop. He shot up as his horse snorted him back into reality. He looked around to where he was. He saw the ruined house as Alex whistled. Two stories and made of wood, a perfect family house that really hit him in the gut. Half of the build was rotted away as the half was in decent condition.

“Alex? I think we-”

“Hey, check it out.” She cut him off, gesturing in front of them on the path.

“What?”

“Ahead, see it? It’s a haunting of endermen. Looks like they’re investigating something. Curious things they are. Want to see how close we can get?” Alex asked with a gleam in her eye. Didn’t even hesitate?

Steven muttered something under his breath before letting out a long sigh, “Sure, why not.”

Alex urged her horse closer as the endermen were widely gesturing to one another, and then pointing somewhere off the beaten path. The road looked disturbed, more so that usual as this road is fairly untraveled.

As the pair got close to the haunting of endermen, they were immediately acknowledged. The two adventurers kept their eyes away from the faces of the tall mysterious ones, but the endermen still grew agitated as they talked amongst each other in their warbled speech.

A more excitable enderman waved and gestured with its whole arm as it tried to get both human’s attention. Alex brought her horse near. She glanced at Steven while he shrugged.

The enderman began chittering as it pointed to a spot of interest off the beaten path. Alex averted her eyes as she got off her steed and looked down. Indeed there seemed to be a scene as the other two endermen were peeking over a bush and pawing away the bough of trees with their claws.

“Steve, mind tying up the horses and meeting me down this way?” Alex said as she kept her eyes on the other two endermen.

“Aye.”

Steven saw the one enderman that waved linger a bit before trailing after his friend, as the other teleported ahead anyways. He shook his head as he switched out the bridles of both horses for one without a bit and tied them up.

One of them nudged him thankfully before leading down to graze on the grass by the tree. Steven stepped back a little bit to make sure they were okay when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Was everything-” He turned around and was eye-to-eye with a matte black reptilian skin. Steven jumped back as chills ran down his spine. The enderman squatted to get to his eye level and Steven chose to turn his eyes to the grass, seeing the tiny clawed feet of the enderman instead. It also reached out with its long arm and grabbed something, Steven was too shocked to turn his head to see what it was.

It started with chittering and jumping octaves within its gravelly voice. Not once had it moved a single muscle as it stays in its crouch. The rush of adrenaline had his heart beating in his ears. His palms grew sweaty as his throat went dry. Why he was panicking, he didn’t know but in such a situation he has zero clue on how to proceed. Steven noticed from his peripheral vision that the enderman had his sword in its grip.

“Uh, that’s... that’s my sword?” He tried to reach for his blade but the enderman held on tighter to the sheath that held his trusty iron sword.

Steven could hear the enderman moving it’s clawed hand over the surface, feeling the engravings of the handle and the imprints of the leather scabbard.

“Chirp?” The enderman asked.

“I... I c-can’t understand you. I’m sorry?”

Steven attempted to turn away, but he was grabbed. Pretty forcefully. Sharp claws bit into his shoulder as the enderman continued chirping and gurgling. Its eyes narrowed. Its claws bit further into Steven's shoulder as the being continued whatever it was doing. Steven gasp as his eyes shot to the face of the enderman.

He couldn’t let out a squeak as fear overtook his senses. Those purple eyes vibrant but shaped like that of a reptile. Entrancing and mysterious, the pupils dilated as his pulse quickened. Heart in his throat as his spine went rigid.

Dread filling every inch of his veins. He awaited the horrifying wail yet his own voice could barely make a wheeze let alone a scream of terror. Static filling each and every part of his senses. He began to squirm out of the grasp.

It’s gravely voice almost made sense as patterns continued. In a split second, the patterns forming sentences, patterns forming syllables. Comprehensible gibberish that almost sounded like common-speak.

“ **Stop.** ” It's a voice like sandpaper in his ears. Steven flinched and shut his eyes as the rest of the words resulted in chittering once again. But that single word, it felt like in his ears, yet not in his ears. It was ringing in his head like a developing headache.

The enderman gave another agitated chitter as Steven opened his eyes with a gasp, the enderman’s claw digging into his shoulder. Glimmering violet bore into his head. Like a worm feeding into his conscience and squirming around, trying to find something deep within his consciousness.

Steven felt another chill down his spine as the enderman’s brow furrowed. Something like a thin string pulled at his forehead the longer he stared into the reptilian eyes. Like a snap, something clicked. It felt like being rammed by a ravager-beast at full throttle. Yet he stayed in one place.

“ **Does this one understand me?** ” The gravel in his head sent sparks of a headache through his mind. It echoed like in a long stone hallway, foreign and painful.

“ **Do you hear?”** Steven felt the small waves of nausea lap at his senses the more the voice continued. His head spun.

“Wha... what?” He squeaked out.

The claw upon his shoulder relaxed it’s grip, “ **Hm... just as one thought.** ” The nauseating voice echoed within his head. The enderman’s face contorted to satisfaction, and it’s mouth never moved.

“You... you can- I can understand you?” The words tumbling out of Steven's mouth as the expression of the enderman in front of him changed. Blood pressure had just skyrocketed.

“ **One’s hope is not lost.** ” The enderman removed its claw and its eyes betrayed an emotion of cockiness, “ **Not impossible, just very difficult, a difficulty this one had just conquered. Other’s thought such accomplishments impossible.** ”

Steven saw the way the sun reflected off its black leathery skin, the shine of round scales that reflect like glassy obsidian. Its nervous mannerisms betrayed many thoughts going on within its head. The slender neck and smooth jaw, perfectly hiding the large fangs within its maw. It’s long arms folded across its chest, disproportionate as it slowly circled around Steve. It’s equally disproportionate long legs moved without a sound. Upon its sternum, in a slightly lighter tone, a little iridescent orb shining a deep dark green. But it never broke eye contact.

Steven grew uneasy and kicked at the grass to fill the silence. Half expecting the being to grow irate and lung at him, waking him up from this vivid and slightly terrifying dream. But none of that happened, the being only stared.

“ **Do you ever think why us Endermen refuse gazes? Why do we remind? Humans don’t like reminders.** ”

“uh... I just-”

The enderman moved slightly away from the miner, “ **Forgive us. This one means not to indulge or rant through your precious time. Halt for a moment, this one shall seek out one’s friends.** ”

In a flash, the end-dwelling being was gone in a flurry of purple dust.

Steven coughed as the spectral dust blew into his face. The wind picked up as the last warm rays of the sun that caressed his face. Shortish hair ruffling in the breeze. The leaves of the trees around rustled as the bird sang their afternoon melodies.

The clouds grew darker upon the horizon as the sun began its final descent. It was a calm before the storm as he walked across the trail and stood at Alex’s side.

Alex turned her head to face Steve, “What was that about?”

“I don’t know, one of the enderman just... started talking to me?”

Alex laughed, her auburn hair bouncing as she shook her head, “You, you got to be kidding me. That’s... hah... Steven that’s impossible.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“Truth my ass, I swear first it was the Herobrine thing (which I believe), and now you’re telling me an enderman spoke to you? All I hear is that chirping and warbling, how do you make words from that.”

“You can! Through tele- tele... uh... telepathy? Yeah through telepathy.”

“You’re going mad. Next thing you’ll be telling me that you stared dead in the eye and it didn’t tear you to shreds.”

“Uh... about that.”

“Steven!”

“What?”

The enderman approached the two humans and knelt down to Steven's eye level. Alex squawked in horror as Steven stared right back and unsheathed her sword. But lowered her stance as the enderman didn’t move and her companion just nodded along. She was really reconsidering many things as of late.

“What do you mean?” Steven cocked his head.

He enderman declared, “ **Come hither, we require your input. Bring the other but not to close. Tell them to keep one’s distance, it would be lethal to get close.** ” Then teleported back to where it was.

“What was it saying?” Alex asked with a heavily concerned look in her eyes, “It was just staring right at you and you just spoke back! It was intense, for sure I thought you were dead like, how?”

Steven shrugged, “I’m as lost as you are.”

As the duo approaches a different enderman glanced up and locked eyes with Steve.

“ **Does this one understand what happened?** ” A hoarse and alien voice asked. The sound reverberating within his head. It ached. The enderman did not remove its gaze, “ **Does this one understand us? Was my comrade correct? I am not overwhelmed by one’s thoughts, nor angered by your gaze. You bring no hostilities, yes?** ”

“N...no.” Steven said, his throat dry and itchy as Alex whipped her head from the enderman to Steve, clearly confused, “We are just curious travelers.”

“ **Very well. Approach nearer, a scene has happened.** ”

“Wha-”

“ **Can one decipher and explain such a catastrophe, an unknown plague. Withered all it touches in a solid circle it’s point too far for our reach. Humans know much about plagues and we do not. Do you understand? But to remain at a distance, a single touch is catastrophic.** ”

“Alright.”

Alex gave Steven a very confused face, “Steve, what the heck is it saying?”

Steven shook his head, “Oh! That something has happened beyond the bushes or something, they think it’s a plague but it withers everything it touches? Also not to go near it, that’s apparently a bad idea.” He glanced back to the enderman as it nodded.

Alex could feel the pressured gaze of the tall otherworldly being, “G-go on?”

“That’s all it said, so uh... shall we see?”

Alex shrugged, “Might as well.”

The one enderman moved the shrubs out of the way and let the two humans pass.

Alex was a good dozen meters away when she saw the two tall thin black figures milling about. Purple dust emanating off their bodies as they encircled the scene. She noticed that the haunting of enderman avoided the center and any contact with the ash-like residue that covered the scene. They chirped and chattered amongst each other, investigating.

Her fingers tapping restlessly on the hilt of her sheathed blade. Steven had joined close and stayed by Alex’s side, his bow off his shoulder and loaded, balancing himself as he waited in an offensive position. The scene giving off a strange vibe, like something could jump out of it at any moment. The other enderman at his other side remained as calm as can be.

“ _ Shhrriiing _ ” Alex unsheathed her sword as she drew nearer to the scene. Wherever the substance had touched, withered grass and plants were. But a defined line between living and dead was clear. An area of impact of sorts.

True to her thoughts, an abandoned encampment it was. But something was off. No embers lazily floated, no crackling of an unkempt fire. The ring of effect was a perfect circle, eerily enough. Whatever was inside was coated in the dusty ash, though it was a deep grey and... misty. Like a haze hovering over the surface. But everything was coated in this substance. Everything that was in the effect of the aura was reduced to its bare bones.

The enderman was growing nervous and moved out of Alex’s path. The closer she was the more she could see. The dusty ash was more of a solid coating of the substance. A horse’s skeleton was seen eaten away as its post was rotten and snapped in half. Many human skeletons were spread around the camp. The canvas tents were torn to shreds as fiber clung to the shriveled posts.

Steven heard the chittering grow anxious as if they were waiting for something to happen, maybe they were. Suddenly, one of the enderman’s gazes snapped directly into his eyes. A wave of adrenaline and fear overtook his body as the enderman didn’t move. It’s comrade confused at what it saw.

“ **Flower.** ” It reverberated in his head pointing.

Steven slowly turned his head and every scene from the nightmare from that previous night came flooding back. There in the circle was a single rose. It’s petals darker than night, it’s steam ashy-grey and crinkled, long thorns dripping with death protruded from the stem, jagged leaves shriveled and dry. From its center, the rose emitted a deep and granule infested mist, one that rolled off its velvety petals and covered the floor.

Alex took a step back in surprise, her gasp clearly audible, “Steve, take that flower and toss it in.” She gestures to the daisy by his foot, eyes never leaving the circle.

Steven curiously nods as he picks the flower and draws nearer, carefully watching his step as he shuffles near the edge. The daisy, as soon as it hits the ground, is swallowed and infected by the withered aura. Dusty dark ash crawled and encased the innocent bloom as every inch of it shrivels and wilts. All taking place in the span of only a few seconds.

All bystanders look on with a mixture of horror, terror, and trepidation. The meadow is deathly silent. Not one being moves, nor tears their gaze.

Nobody noticed the earth churn by Steven’s foot.

...

Steven jolted awake as a headache assaulted his head. It took him a solid second to settle his churning stomach but the rock of the horse’s trot grounded him back. He was still on the road, the sun far past overhead may be an hour away from touching the horizon. His steed shook its head and snorted, uneasily twitching its ears as it sensed it’s rider’s discomfort. Alex took notice of his winded appearance as well.

“You okay?” Alex cocked her head, auburn hair glinting like copper in the early sunset.

Steven shook his head, “Yeah... How long have we been traveling?”

“Eh... about all day, you’ve been out the majority of the time, spaced out when we stopped to rest. A little after exiting the dead-zone.”

“Did we ever got off to do something, like investigate?”

Alex gave him a perplexed look, “No? I let the horses drink a while ago at a stream. Juniper was getting antsy as you were mumbling a bunch of nonsense earlier, pretty frantically. I guessed another nightmare... You sure you’re doing fine?”

“Alex, I’m going to be honest with you.”

Alex turned her head to fully look at her partner, “Okay?”

Steven fiddled with the horse’s reins, “It’s getting worse. The nightmares I mean, they get more lucid and realistic every time I fall asleep. I’m constantly tired, I haven’t gotten a wink of rest and my body aches every time I get hurt in my dream like it actually happened. There is this theme. It’s like a plague that withers all it touches and it’s in every other dream, along with him. I’m terrified, Alex. I really am.”

His companion only whistled a falling note as her face contorted to an apprehensive look. It was clear that she didn’t know what to do either. Alex adjusted her cloak, a navy almost black, around her shoulders as she thought of what to say.

“We should be arriving at Wayshire any minute now.” She said.

Steven hummed a reply as he set his sights to the distance ahead of him; and as they peaked over a small hill, and gazed through the forest’s trees, sure enough, the galant ramparts of the Wayshire city came into view. Nestled on a wide hill and circled by a lazy river, the city may not be the best defense wise but its commerce was rivaled with the capital itself.

The beaten path a light beige colored squiggle up to the many colors of cobblestone as it crosses the river then turns into the switchbacks up to the city.

The sun dipped it’s radiant head under the rolling hills as the duo made it to the gate. The city watch let them through as easily as possible, just by the glance of Alex’s and Steven's insignia on their cloak. Steven adjusted his iron sword closer to his hip and pulled his own matching cloak over his shoulders. The dark navy fabric covering him as they continued down the path.

The gate rose as the horses spurred forward, eager at the sound of people and potential rest. The rocking of the saddle as the horse's hooves clacked on the stone brought Steven a sense of peace as the ceiling of the gate gave way to the slightly starry sky and the city as active as ever.

‘ _ Welcome to Wayshire _ ’ Steven thought to himself.

Tudor style houses lined the main street. Light grey plaster walls with criss crossed dark wood support all over handing slighting with the solid stone bricks as the foundation (and first floor). The cobbled path turned to more flattened stone bricks for a path up ahead. Wrought-iron lamp posts flared up as the lamplighters did their rounds.

Small shrubbery lined the sidewalks and ivy climbed the walls of the houses. Strongs of triangle banners strung from house to house across the wide street. People reeled in the laundry hanging outside their windows and closed up for the night.

Even in the late evening where the lamps spark to life, the city was bustling with nightlife. Taverns and inn roaring with music and jovial conversation, city watch making their rounds and nodding at the still awake denizens, the blacksmith cooling his hearth, and the shopkeepers locking their wares.

Alex offered to take the horses to the stable, letting Steven have a moment to himself. It was a relief, as he told himself many times before. An inkling in the back of his head remained as he looked at the local townsfolk, but the air and the feeling of the protective wall held him grounded.

A sudden gust blew his cloak from his shoulders, showing his dark and scarred arms and the teal-shirt blue-pants ensemble.

Steven could hear the whispers of gossiping dames and curious looks of children. The wary look of fellow travelers as they search him for something. Slowly measuring until they got to his indigo eyes that shined violet in the lamplight.

Another town guard took a double glance at his teal-shirt blue-pants ensemble. Unconsciously, he pulled his cloak tighter around him and flipped the hood up, clearly displayed the diamond sword-and-pickaxe insignia on the back. Their confused and borderline hostile gazes sent shivers down his spine and forced him to turn away and search for an inn. He wanted to sleep anyways.

In his drowsy haze, he missed the pair of hollow eyes from the alley, scrutinizing his every move.

…

  
  


_ (A.N. I do see all reviews and I will try to reply to the best of my ability, I also appreciate the support as well! It really does mean a lot!!!! _

__

_ Thank you for reading! <3 _

_ I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!) _

  
  


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	4. Dreams Unseen

**This chapter was edited on 6/24/2020**

...

  
  


_ “...Eyes? What’s so important about eyes? You can see with them, measure distance, recognize things, along with other instances. But on a more spiritual level, eyes are known to be the windows to the soul per se and the most expressive part of our face. Yes, some people may not have eyes or be able to see, it doesn’t change the fact of how non-human eyes have an impact on us... _

_...Many people know the hollow glare of a Creeper, the decayed and blackened sclera of zombies, but what about the enderman? Dimension hopping, teleporting, tall humanoid creatures that roam the overworld. And every child has been instilled with the knowledge and repercussions of looking an enderman directly into its eyes. This knowledge has found a large part in ancient writings and engravings from unearthed temples. Many describing a haunting of intelligent endermen holding a giant glowing lizard eye. Along with other motifs and the sort. _

_ There are texts that speak of a process to turn an Ender pearl into an Ender eye capable of seeking out something that was lost to time. These eyes are found on many different strongholds throughout the world from the desert to the jungle, they are used as small clues to puzzles. And nods to some parts of seeing the unseen... _

_...Along with ancient murals and history, eyes in legends also hold a great significance. Ever heard of the legend of the white-eyed demon? Ruler of the nether and master of the mobs? A beast capable of mass destruction and an omen of death if you see those cursed glowing eyes. Many rebels and punks use such motifs as a form of resistance, rebellion, or warning. But in terms of aesthetics? Incredibly edgy in certain tastes. _

_ There are some who believe that those eyes are an omen of death. To encounter two glowing objects, that resemble eyes, in the death of night is typically taken as a warning of death to any who continues further. Either he will get you or send an army of mobs to do his work, neither is the better option... _

_ -a few excerpts from “The Insignia of Eyes” by Janice of Riverbrooke _

  
  


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CHAPTER IV: Dreams Unseen

  
  


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It was an average early morning at the stables. Dew clung to the blades of grass as the sun warmed the earth. It was a cloudless day, perfect for practically any activity that requires being outside, which was the majority of the equestrian building. Horses bobbed their heads as they snorted and huffed at the figure passing. Some pressed their snouts to the gate as they recognized their caretaker.

A boy of fourteen years trotted past. An important item in his hand. He weaved this way and that as he peered through all the stables at the farm. The walls of Wayshire distant from his home as sprawling grasslands laid in between. The boy finally saw his target, a man who was leading a chestnut mare out of her stall and into the grass.

A large brush in his grasp. The boy ducked behind a stack of hay bales as he watched the man with interest. He had heard of his coming, and who he resembled, but to actually see him in person?

The man was clad in a teal buttonless shirt that was partially untucked from his navy pants. He looked like an average man in the fields: dark-skinned, sun-tanned, brawny (shapely at that), calloused hands, and skin riddled with scars. If he wore an old farmer’s wear, nobody could tell the difference. Though the callouses came from the handle of a pick, his form from the miles trekked underground, and his face... The man combed a hand through his mess of curling hair.

Most wouldn’t even spare him a second glance if he walked by. But legends and old wives tales made him the center of attention of any place he was at. The curse of the teal shirt and blue jeans. A strange attire, and a cursed one at that. But by how the dogs play around his very feet and how the skittish old cat warmed to the man like he had raised her himself. He was like any other hardworking man.

Though the pickaxe, rather than the plow or bridle, was the tool of his trade.

But what made him different, even from the entire population of Mojania, was his eyes. The color of dawn as it heralded the sun, and the color of dusk as it cleared the sky for the moon. Rich and beautiful sapphires as they gleam indigo in the right light.

They say the eye is the window to the soul. Yet the soul behind these was as mysterious as the ocean and wild as a tempest.

Nothing like the cursed hollow ones spoken so much in legends, empty of everything but wrath. The ones supposedly sighted a few days back. The ones that kept him quivering under his blanket at night, that made him jump in the middle of the night when the candle’s light reflected in the mirror a certain way.

The ones that were made of malice, ill-intent, and despair. The man tending to the mare was full of life, mirth, and personality. It is evident they are polar opposites.

The man had moved. He was fiddling with his things on a nearby stump. But finished and quickly returned to the mare.

A satchel laid unassuming on the flat of the stump. A gleaming diamond pickaxe leaning on it. The iridescent sheen gave away the mining prowess of the man. Though it appeared as if his iron sword needed a bit of work. And among other things, there she was, the old cat who would run away from her own shadow sitting directly on top of his things as if she knew him from kitten-hood. A black mottled calico bathing in the sun. Her demeanor was calm and peaceful. The boy wishes he could relax like that.

He glanced around before sneaking to the stump where the man’s things lay. The cat groggily lifted her head as she ‘murped’ in the boy’s direction. The boy watched as the man carefully went through, brushing dust and grime from the mare’s coat and picking out rocks from her hooves. In the small pasture with a single great oak tree, he looked so serene. Like that one painting he saw in a gallery.

The boy shook his head as he made up his mind. He would march right up there and give him the item. Just like that. The man wasn’t anyone to be feared as the milkmaids had said. It just fueled his curiosity. The boy would have bothered the man anyways, this was a more legitimate reason to. 

“Thought I’d find you here,”

Steven tensed as he turned to face the owner of the voice, “Is that so?” He looked down with a lopsided grin.

A young boy stood before him, bright-eyed and energetic, barely tall enough to reach Steven's chest. But he was suited in what looked to be a stablehand’s attire with a leather vest, stained jeans, and cowboy boots. Despite the boy’s lankiness, the kid had some muscle.

The boy sheepishly grinned, “Yeah.”

Steven returned to grooming his mare but gave a sideways glance, “So if you knew I was here, what made you look at my things?”

“I uh... was just...uh...” the stablehand was fiddling with the hem of his vest.

“Observing?” Steven interjected.

“Watching, sir.”

“Hm.” Steven bent down reaching for one of the mare’s hooves, “You’re the stable master’s son?” He asked petting the snout of his mare, picking her shoes for rocks.

“That’s me.”

Steven paid the boy no mind as he continued to tend to his steed. He showed his friendly lopsided grin whenever the boy asked about his career and the outside world, though still showing his horse his dutiful attention. The chestnut mare nudged his shoulder playfully as Steven began untangling her mane and braiding it.

“Are you also here to tell me I’m grooming my horse wrong?” He jested.

“No, no, sir. I’ve come with a letter. Someone told me to give it to you.”

The boy held out his hand and indeed it was an envelope outstretched to him. A little crinkled as it looked as if it was passed through a few hands. But the striking part was the pale blue stamp seal and the faint scent of burned incense coming from it.

Steven gingerly took the letter, “A letter?”

“Yea, oh ‘n the farrier’s back from his trip if you want to talk to him about adjusting or taking a peek. Been on the road for a while?”

“I just might.” Steven hummed in confirmation as he placed the letter next to his things. He returned with a metal rod to pick out the stickier rocks from out of the horse’s hoof.

“At least that’s what pa said...” The boy shifted his weight from side to side, staring at the man, “Well, if you need anything... I’ll be in the field.”

“Wait,” Steven stopped the boy, “Did you, by chance, see a woman in a green tunic? Ginger hair, green eyes, freckled and fair? Might have been wearing chainmail underneath?” Steven gestured trying to imitate what his friend might have looked like.

“Red hair and green eyes? A Crested Elite member?”

“So you saw her?”

“Earlier this morning, she forgot something on one of the saddlebags. It was a baggy of sorts but I couldn’t see much, it was still a little dark out. A little after sunrise.”

“... Did she say where she was going?”

“No, only to the city sir, to catch up with a friend.”

“Any names?”

“I only caught ‘Frey’ from her, the rest the stablemaster—my pa—could tell you.”

Steven hesitated for a second before nodding his head, “Thanks.” He replied curtly. The stablehand stood for a few seconds before scampering off to who knows what. The sound of a gate unlatching and a horse’s plodding clops against the ground soon following after.

The boy wondered as he led a horse into the pasture. The man is still by the stables, contemplating as he affectionately pets his steed, cradling the beast’s snout and pressing their heads together. Laughing as the mare playfully nudged and played as he finished braiding her chestnut mane. Though the echoes from the gossiping maids had him very confused.

“How in the world could this man be dangerous?” The boy asks the horse, who only shakes its mane and snorts in response.

  
  


...

  
  


The city of Wayshire was a bustling city with as much day life as there is the nightlife. Taverns roaring with laughter through all times of the day. The shops along the street displaying their wares through the windows.

The sound of a blacksmith pounding away at his newest creation as the wafting scent of sweetbreads coming from the baker’s oven. A leatherworker whoops in joy as an apprentice completed his first task correctly. Traveling traders proclaiming their exotic wares from under a silk cover as a group of huddling children were entranced by his display.

The scent of salted and seasoned fish sends Steven's mouth-watering as he passes a pub. The city was alive with townsfolk of all types wandering the streets as guards patrolled to keep the rowdy adolescents in line.

Many travelers and wanderlust-folk know the riverside trade-city for its medieval and century-old aesthetic. Plus the fact is it was built around the 500s and the current year is going on 1892. The inhabitants prefer slightly more modern-esque essentials and fashion, the city still shines with cobble streets and that iconic style of house with tall roofs for days and brick chimneys. It’s an unspoken idea for that old time's sake.

From a bird’s eye view, the trade city’s thick walls sat in a wonky oval shape that flexed and warped. The Heathbrough river flowed around with a single man-made channel that cut directly through the middle of the city. Wayshire was organized in a fashion of three circular tiers within each other that lead all the way up to the baron’s keep, each their own sort of rank.

The smallest in the middle was taken up mostly by the baron’s castle, church, town hall, barracks, notaries, and other civil/martial based buildings. The next tier was the markets, shops, and departments of that nature. It was where most of the inns and taverns laid as well. But in between the wide roads and compelling shops lies the dark alleyways full of vagrants and the black market of Wayshire itself.

The third and largest quadrant of Wayshire, which hugged all front’s of the outermost wall, was composed of practically all residential and a little monumental. Some other hole-in-the-wall taverns lay there but the denizens of Wayshire typically reside in this tier. Three walls, three quadrants, and a highly fortified city.

The majority of the buildings here were quaint but hardy. The main floor that connected to the street was made of large and sturdy stones surrounded by large pillars of thick spruce logs that held up the second floor which was much wider and overhung into the street. Spruce beams made Xs across the white plaster walls which were the second floor. And tall dark oak roofing shingles that sloped into a tall triangles roof with a little point at the tip.

Many houses had lamps and small, colorful, painted banners hanging from the lip of the overhanging part of the house. Brick chimneys raised to the sky with billows of smoke, warming the interiors from the chill of the weather. Many others had bushels of flowers hanging on the sides of the windows having small pops of color down the streets. People peered out of their windows to the lone cloaked figure walking down the main street.

A single man, dark-skinned and tousled dark brown hair strode through the streets. An enchanted diamond pick strapped tightly to his belt. But the catch was the billowing cloak on his shoulders with an emblem on the back.

A sword-and-pickaxe made of diamond was embroidered on the back, both tools gilded in golden thread. The Crested Elite. A guild of master warriors, miners, builders, and crafters. And this man was clearly one of them.

He could feel their stares as they saw the insignia on his back. A very famous guild known for their prowess, strength, and bravery. The boy had said a little about the guild before he left the stables. Though an enforced signature of the guild was that they always traveled in pairs, a safeguard per se. This leads it to be quite questionable when there is one seen on their own, much like Steven at the moment.

Probably Alex too, but he knows how people wouldn’t dare approach the woman when she put on that scowl. Her murder-face as Steven likes to jest. Despite the cold glare he gave, his face was too soft and his air too friendly to cause any real harm, unlike Alex who had such a sharp gaze people practically leapt away when she came strolling past. And who’s to say that she’s the friendlier one?

Speaking of, where was she? Frey wasn’t much of an answer, and the stablemaster was of no better help than his kid. He could ask around but that wouldn’t get him anywhere and he knew it. Though there were plenty of other factors that made his search harder. Alex and her connections, she could have at least slipped a note under his door before she left.

Steven could feel stares burrow and burn into his back. It didn’t help that his diamond pick was strapped to his side. He tried to hide it as his iron one had been left on his horse's saddle and practically broken by now.

The diamond one’s quality clear as it’s shine practically yelled it was made of the finest quality diamond any miner worth their salt could find and embezzled with enchantments. But the curve of the pickaxe head made a suspicious lump on his side, even the gleaming blue peeking out once in a while

He hurried on as the whispers of his appearance rose from beneath the common chatter and bargaining. And the figure of cloaked people with their hoods up, walking very quickly in his shadow.

His own complexion didn’t help much. His pretty face and distinct status made him quite a large target, rather than his likeness. Not many people remember the legends anymore, nor the color of the demon. Only wayward adventurers and ghost story enthusiasts.

But still, people gave him wary glances, A century born instinct towards the combination of teal and navy, it’s just how it was. Many rebellious teens use the colors as forms of well... rebellion among other things. Rascals the lot of them, but Steven remembers when he was like them once.

His eye caught the sight of a young lad, short choppy brown hair and soot smudged over his suntanned face. The boy had a rat perched on his shoulder as he glared from an alleyway. The cloak over his shoulders was in no better condition than the boy’s shirt, but it appeared warm and insulated for the chill of the region.

Steven saw the boy glance at a disturbance behind Steven before vanishing into thin air. Steven blinked in surprise as his pace resumed. The group of cloaked figures quickly caught up to him.

Steven didn’t take chances and weaved through the crowd with as much grace as a bulky miner could have (which is more than you think) and hurried down the road. He ducked into another bustling street as a yell over the other’s had found him.

One where the buildings were packed closer together and small pockets of hiding spaces were everywhere.

The street Steven had turned down was still as active as the main street, despite the possible hiding places. Taverns and restaurants lined the streets, patrons enjoying the cool refreshing air as their chatter and laughter echoed down the busy street.

‘ _ Find a wall, pull your hood up, and blend in. _ ’ His subconscious yelled.

Though Steven caught wind fast that the cloaked figures were gaining and maneuvered beside a stack of barrels as a group of weapon-wielding men stumbled down the road, hoods down and exposed. They all looked to be of a local gang. Not ideal, but the pungent scent of alcohol wafting off of them, even this early in the morning was well... pungent.

The sound of harshly spoken commands reached his ears as the figures rushed past him. A party of four as they hurried down the road. Their eyes passed right over his head as he waited with bated breath. Side-eyeing under his navy hood.

“Where’d he go?”

“You see his face? Looks like he’s worth a pretty penny.”

“A young’ un too.”

“How’d ya lose an Elite like that?”

“Shut it, if we get this one, we’ll be set for life!”

“Find him, you idiots!”

“This way!”

Even perfect cities have dirt swept under the rug.

The sound of boots came thundering down the street had come closer but past him without hesitation. Steven let out a relieved sigh as he leaned back on the cold stone wall, sliding down until he rested on his rear. He waited for a second, his heart’s pulse fading from his ears until the coast was clear.

A man passed in front of him, unknowing of the man soliciting outside by a door. He was holding a letter, a few actually, and was reading them one by one.

It flashed in his mind about the letter. The one the stablehand had given him. Steven took it from his bag and contemplated it. The pale blue wax seal that clasps the parchment closed stared at him. Urging, egging him on to open. A five-pointed star is the center of the wax’s imprint. He wanted to wait a little longer for some reason, but his curiosity got the better of him as he moved to open the letter.

Just like that, it was ripped from his grasp. A very large rat had the letter in between its teeth. It’s brown fur sleek and preened, tail clean and straight. It stared at him with these beady little eyes as it took off.

Steven jumped to his feet, only to see the rat trot up to a young boy across the street. The kid was draped with a grey cloak over his shoulders. The boy scooped the rat and the letter up and only spared a glance before running down the street.

Steven immediately gave chase as the boy weaved through the crowd, rat, and letter securely in his grasp. The boy had taken a sharp turn down a dark and narrow alleyway. One with a triangle carved into a single stone, so hidden that the untrained eye would only pass it. Steven didn’t even hesitate before turning into the same alleyway. The boy went this way and that, only the flutter of the boy’s cloak telling where to follow next.

Left, right, left, over the fence, right, cross the street, right, left, right, under the bridge, left, go forward, left, turn at the tree, right, jump the wall, right, cross the street. 

It was a maze through alleyways and across large roads. Nobody paid mind to miner nor thief as they weaved through the inner workings of the city, slowly crawling deeper into its depths. Triangle, triangle, triangle.

Each time there was that shape in the wall, the boy turned. From the edges of the market area now deep in the inner workings and back alleys. Steven was hopelessly lost, but the small tail of the boy’s cloak held his attention.

There was a scuffle up ahead, a cacophony of rowdy voices, and the stench of booze up ahead. The voices were familiar and it sounded like trouble. It was another sharp turn as Steven skidded to a halt. The gang that had chased him earlier was sitting right there, weapons drawn and blocking the alley. From behind them, the kid only spared a glance before skittering off into the shadows. The faint etching of a triangle at the alleyway.

“Well, well, well, what do we ‘ave here boys?” The leader of the men sauntered up, spitting at Steven's feet.

The miner rolled his eyes and shook his head, “I am not in the mood to deal with your bullshit right now.”

“What?”

Steven scoffed as he barreled through the line of armed men. Easily breaking their defense and ran like a bat out of hell. He heard a chorus of yelling and curses as he continued down the cold trail of the thieving boy and his pet rat. They try to chase, but the speed and force of the miner only to have them bumbling around. The miner is long gone by the time they orient themselves.

Steven continued down the road and into another alleyway and slows to a jog as the space before him lead into a sheltered square. A triangle etched in the stone to his left as the light shines near his feet. A large oak sat in the center, surrounded with uneven stones as it’s root emerged in some places. It’s a spacious square as the oak tree’s branches are wide and spanned wide, creating a canopy of leaves and branches for people to relax under.

Small children in hand-me-down clothes ran around, playing and cheering. A young man with a thick leather book sat on a bench, a spectral hyena materialized by his side. A woman sitting at her windowsill pouring a concoction into the flower box, and the wilted plants revitalized as tendrils of vines rose and spilled out of the box and bloomed with little white flowers. Another person, whose eyes were solid lilac purple passed by him with a smile, a raven preening on their shoulder.

A magic quadrant? Why would they be so run down? Steven blinked before continuing down the sidewalk, skirting the square. He passed by a small bakery and the scent of warm bread and pastry filled his mind, the sound of chirping, and the strange laughing of the summoned hyena came about. His grip on his pickaxe lessened till his hand fell to his side. He rolled his shoulders as the cool breeze that swept through the alleyways chilled his face.

In the corner of his eyes stood the kid, hood down, leaning against a wall by a colorful door. Steven just stared at the kid, who was staring right back.

He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the kid held up the letter tauntingly and gave a ‘come here’ gesture with his arm. Steven glanced around the plaza before walking towards the kid.

“Squeak!”

Steven jumped at the loud squeal that pinched his ears. He looked down to see the boy’s rat at his feet. Practically trying to jump up to his leg and grab hold of his navy jeans.

With a wary glance to the kid, who only cocked his head, the miner knelt down and scooped the rodent into his arms. The rat was chirping merrily as it perched on his shoulder, sniffing in the direction of the boy.

The cloaked kid smirked as Steven calmly and collectively saunters up. The rat on Steven's shoulder sniffed at the miner’s ear before digging into the fold of his hood. Those wild strands of brown hair sticking out everywhere and grey mischievous eyes. The kid held out the letter untouched and untampered, wax seal, and all. No talking, no bargaining. Just a playful smile on his face.

Steven gingerly took the letter, watching the boy’s every move.

The kid gave it up with ease and settled to leaning on the wall again. Steven opened the letter with a single swipe, letting the parchment fall out of the envelope.

“ _ Son of Theroncliffe, _

_ I’ve sensed your presence entering this city, it’s quite peculiar and inquisitive. There’s something about you, boy, that has me intrigued. Follow the child with the rodent to where you will find me. Follow the triangles and keep going. You’ll know when you have arrived. Find the tree, pass through the curtain of colors, and you will find me. _

_ Whispers speak of a problem of yours. I had a council with one who speaks of your visions and your dilemma. I can offer my services free of charge if you would allow me to inspect such a disturbance in the air. The one that seems to radiate from you. May the Aether’s will be in your favor. _ ”

“Signed... Frey?” Steven said out loud.

“Mhm, my grandma’s a seer. She said to make sure you don’t get into trouble or go the wrong way so I led you here.” The boy’s voice was soft and light.

Steven looked up with a scowl, “You could have just told me.”

“That’s not as fun, and besides you would have taken too long if you had walked.” The boy’s eyes shined with mischievous intent. But he held out his hand for Steven to shake, “Name’s Justin, and my familiar is Freyr the magic rat.”

Steven nodded slowly as he took Justin’s hand.

“So... go right ahead? The door’s right there, but you don’t need a street kid to tell you that... if you could call it a door. Grandma insists on having it like that rather than an actual door. When I start my training I’m getting a door on this house.” The boy rambled as he pushed off of the wall. Justin gave a wink as he just sauntered away from the door and disappeared into a random alleyway, leaving Steven to himself.

The house was quaint but painted in flowers and birds on the rim of the door. The window was cloudy and overgrown with flowering vines, plus the fabric curtain obscuring any prying eyes. The door was made of a thick beaded curtain, with... glass beads. Only glass beads. It was beckoning Steven to enter.

The miner passed through the bead curtain. He was sure he was in the right place, the scent of exotic fruit and ginger wafting with the incense gave a homely feel. A match to that from the wax-sealed letter. The air was serene and open, Steven felt himself relax the further he stepped into the parlor.

There is this figure hanging on the wall. Four sticks bound together in a square as knots tied across its frame depicted the sigil of an experienced magic-user, one he’s seen many times through his traveling career. Also with other decals of the same fashion.

“Ah! Beni Beni... I have been awaiting your arrival, Son of the Iron-Mountains.” An old woman came from behind a counter and cheered.

Her complexion sagged as her face was wrinkled with age. Her frizzy peppered hair braided and entwined with silk ribbons and golden beads that ended at her hips. Silver bracelets and necklaces that dangled carelessly and gleamed. Her eyes were mismatched, a warm brown on one and a crystal clear blue in the other; and skin tanned as faded tattoos covered both of her arms, depicting major points in her life and badges of honor.

“Are you the-”

“One who sent the letter? Oh yes indeed, my boy. I sensed your presence the second you stepped foot in the city. It was so compelled by your spirit I had to see you myself... Now, Stevie, Life treats you well? You’ve been up to quite the adventure recently, with all that dungeon crawling and colorful exchanges, you’ve been having peculiar dreams yes?”

“How did you-”

The old woman waved her hand dismissively, “The spirits tell me all I need to know, my dear. The folk may know me town’s crazy lady everywhere I go, but who will take up the mantle if no one else will? I did, my boy. And it’s Bethany Frey, at your service, but everyone prefers Madame Frey.”

“Were one of your spirits a redheaded warrior named Alex?” Steven crossed his arms as his stance relaxed.

Madame Frey chuckled, “You catch on quickly son,”

“I see,” Steven said as he gestured slightly, “So you know-”

“Of your godly predicament? The spirits told me themselves of what you have done. Though the spirits do not say whether or not your deeds are good or bad, the ones from above say that your paths will cross again.”

Steven shook his head, “But the demon-”

“God, son.” The old woman added, “He cannot hear us, but the sentiment changes in the end. It is only respectful as the water goes ‘round the river stone.”

“Sorry, the ‘god’ warned me that the next time we ever have the displeasure of meeting, it will be my last.” The miner lamented.

The old woman just laughed, “It will be the last time you meet, that is correct, but it will be the last time you meet as strangers. Come! Sit down! It’ll be easier to explain at my table.” The old woman beckoned him through another bead curtain door that led to a larger room, “Bethany Frey, you have yourself quite the scry ahead of you. But all the locals don’t call me Madame Frey for nothing. Sounds more mystical and in the lane of my profession, according to the whispers, but it doesn’t change a thing about my technique.”

“Whispers?”

“Rumor! Of course.” Madame Frey led Steven to a small circular table in the center of the room. A red embroidered table cloth laid across and a star with eight points stitched meticulously into the thin fabric, “Now sit down, you must be tired, yes? I have an eye in both the material plane and the ethereal plane.” She tapped the side of her eye, gleaming sky blue, unnatural in brightness, as the other a natural brown.

Steven just warily glanced around as he took a seat on the other side of Madame Frey. Her peppered hair like a long and curling mane of white and grey around her head. Ribbons and beads are just small adornments within the frizz.

She broke out a pair of glasses, thick lenses and a simple frame. Her lips curled as her eyes crinkled and reached for Steven's hand. Her skin felt like tissue paper, to breathe on it would tear it. But by the aether her grip was strong.

Madame Frey hummed as she prodded around, “Now relax, son, and let me do my work. There is something very important I want you to see.”

Steven only nodded.

Madame Frey turns Steven's open pink palm to rest face up. From a dish off to the side, she takes a needle and let a drop of water drip into the center of his palm. At that moment, a haze filled his mind. A tingling that surged from the center of his palm, up through his arm, and settled on the nape of his neck. It felt like a flower blooming there, soft velvet petals barely grazing as that same shiver traveled down his spine and the rest of his body.

“ _ Now this is interesting. _ ”

Steven tried to open his mouth but he had no control. He was stuck, he tried shifting around but nothing would respond to his commands. Steven felt his chest tense and flash cold, but it was squashed down easily. His nerves remained relaxed as he remained himself that he was safe and having his mind read. He could only sigh and breathe. Staring into an empty abyss where not even color exists. Nothing more, nothing less.

“ _ Now, now, son, no need to get antsy. _ ” Madame Frey scolded, “ _ It’s coming together very slowly, very slowly indeed. _ ”

A flash crossed his eyes, like an image of a daydream but vivid. Two men stood side by side atop the crest of a large hill. The younger man wore a teal shirt and navy pants as the other, who was indeed older, had a long fluffy beard yet bald. They stood at a peak of a hill, watching the clouds roll by in the blue sea above.

The noon sun warmed their faces as the breeze tickled their skin. It was like he was there. The man in the brown tunic has his hands clasped behind his back as the other kneeled down to touch the grass. He was filled with curiosity and determination, the other man held a regal air of pride. This was their land, and it was beautiful.

_ “A man fallen from grace, who carried a curse upon his back... _ ” Madame Frey’s voice echoed in the nature around them.

Next, the scene changed, it was the brown-tunic-wearing man again but with a child who shared a likeness in the fashion of the other (who wasn’t present). Both held a bow as the man instructed the boy how to hold the ranged weapon. The one on the man’s back was beautifully carved in pearl white and decorated in blue accents; while the boy’s was a rough oak fit for his grip. The man and boy giggled and laughed in the beautiful forest, leaves an emerald green and peaceful. Serene. They hadn’t caught anything but that was okay, they didn’t need to. They had each other’s company and that was all they needed.

“ _ Who once had everything he could ever need or want, a single being spawned by the aether itself... _ ”

Steven ‘blinked’ and he was standing in a torchlight. A group of heavily armored men surrounded a young teenage boy, with hair barely on his chin. His clothes were teal and navy. But there was an older man who laid in the grass before him.

Black hair, likeness in face, and two eyes like blue sapphires that stared into the boy’s. And blood dripping from his smiling mouth. They sat at the base of a young tree, not even two meters in height. He remembers planting it on his tenth birthday covered in grass and dirt. Now covered in blood and tears.

The boy had tears streaming down his face as he was kneeling beside the man. The armored people around his grinned with cruel intentions. His house was burning, everything inside was gone. His life was lost. The man was covered in his own blood and held his son’s hand with the best might he could muster. The armored strutted forward and dragged the boy away from his father’s dying body. It was the horrified shrieking and spitting curses that filled his spectating mind as the dream faded.

Madame Frey’s voice faltered, “But soon had the whole world against him...”

The following scenes were glimpses of a past life where Steven had roamed on his own, vaguely remembering each and every one. Trudging through the snow of northern Dinbron, sailing across the seas while looking for work, finding his first diamond, and everything in between.

It was nature that had taught him after that and showed him how to survive. Slowly he carved his way for success from the scraps of nothing.

“ _ He overcame the trials and tribulations that followed, he battled foes, outsmarted enemies, and protected the earth... _ ”

The hall was wide and tall. Large circular sconces alive with fire, lighting up the hall. The floor was marble and a large pillar held up the ceiling. It felt like a wooden lodge in aesthetic as many animal busts were hung on the wall.

Legendary tools and other weapons were displayed for all to see. It was a thick and serious air that had Steven practically suffocating. Too many people bustled about for his liking. Steven didn’t know where he was and where he was supposed to go as figures all around him didn’t spare a single glance.

He turned around and a familiar face arose. Pale and freckled, tall and strong, eyes of gleaming emeralds, and a head of blazing copper. She was unmistakable as she weaved through the crowd calling his name. Alex. Trailing behind her were two others. Raina a frog loving master builder and Gael a weaponsmith.

“ _ He made friends and companions that would never falter, an alliance that would never break nor weaken for the eons to come... _ ”

Steven sees a clone of himself in a forest, a forest that he doesn’t recognize. The trees are too green, the grass is too bright, everything is sharp and distinct. Nothing is blended, not even the clouds that were... squares?

To him, it looked unnatural yet not. This clone was standing in front of a cave simply sticking out of the earth.

With youthful indigo eyes and a pep in his step. This look-a-like raises his hand and a gray interface pops up in front of him. A grid of three-by-nine with a distinct row beneath that, and a two by two next to a mini-me of himself…

Everything was cuboid and pixelated on that grid, yet the world around him wasn’t. Icons could be recognized as a series of iron picks with a variety of colored bars beneath them, a torch with the number sixty-four at the bottom corner, and a loaf of bread numbering at thirty-two.

The clone willed a sword into his hand and torches into the other. They just materialized in a flurry of cubic sections as the shadow of the cave was bathed in the firelight.

Satisfied, the clone wandered forth into the cave.

“ _ Who was the last who knew of ancient technology, an ancient arcane, that only they knew how to master... _ ”

The final vision was him, Steven, climbing up the marble steps with the unlit portal at the top. He was placed into the scene as a specter, flying close and slowly circling around until he stood before it. A spectator to the event which transpired only a slight while ago. The lamp in one hand and an open palm in the other. The specter of Steven's consciousness inched up close, staring at the outreaching hand. The one reaching out to touch the portal, breath baited, none dared move...

Fingers grazing... 

“ _ Made choices that would change everything... _ ”

The sound of a fire exploding was first. Then a deafening roar of a monstrous beast sent him to his knees, both in memory and in specter. The bellowing of the bears overpowered that of the portal. He hadn’t recalled this. But the portal was lit, and an aura emanating like fog reached for his kneeling body, like growing vines of flickering violet. His arms forward and palms facing up.

The purple and vaporous hue from the portal swirled into a vortex that led straight to Steven's sternum. It turned his veins purple and pulsing into his hands and eyes. It whipped around and crackled with a glow that burned. It was an inferno so hot it burned purple. And every inch of his kneeling form was absorbing the power in which stole his breath.

A figure materialized from the portal. A man painted in soot and sulfur whose hands were calloused from the burning rock, whose skin was greyed from years away from the sun, whose soul was born of the mists and forced into the element which despised it, whose eyes shone the way in the darkest of depths.

A look-alike was taller, a little sharper in features, hair cascading down his back, shoulders much broader, a herculean shape. The supposed look-a-like hardly had any true resemblance to the miner other than the color of the clothes upon both of their backs.

The figure of glowing white eyes stepped forward to the kneeling miner. With a finger, lifting the miner’s head to look at him, violet fire erupting from the young man’s eyes. A feeling of weightlessness as the air around them swirled.

The figure cocked his head at the fire burning around the miner and took on a pose with his arms outstretched and dispelled the purple flames.

From a view of fresh eyes and a clear mind, everything was changing.

Everything was different than it seemed. This isn’t how he remembered it, yet he was delirious and in pain. How could he properly tell the right from the wrong? Why was he lightheaded, the world began to swirl as the entity cast his spell and both the memory and the specter, which was his consciousness, collapsed with a loud ringing and a haunting phrase.

“ _ And this legend became his downfall and his curse finally catching up to claim his soul. As if he failed, the curse will surface, and he would be damned for eternity to come. _ ”

  
  


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_ (A.N. Me thinking about writing this story: What if I got Minecraft, put a hyper-realistic filter on it, add some fantasy elements (that are not TTRPG related what are you talking about?), then a crap ton of mods beyond comprehension? Quality content right here, oh and it’s a book, not a game. _

_ My friend: ... _

_ My Friend: Do it. _

_ Also thanks to a friend of mine, K_Zu, who beta-read and added a couple of ideas. _

_ I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!) _

  
  


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	5. Watch Your Step

**This chapter was edited on 6/25/2020**

_ Content Warning: heavy drowning or stuck-in-a-current trigger warning at the very, very end of the chapter. _

  
  


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“ _ To my dear friend, _

_ Have you, my dearest companion, gone mad? I swear by the aether and back what preposterous proclamations have you been spewing. For the first time, I must have questioned your common sense! Do you not know who built your manor and gave you your quarry? Why would you do such a thing to the very people that gave you your wealth? _

_ My dearest friend, I beg of you to reconsider your values! A miner is one of the most dangerous jobs in our history. Mothers beg their children not to even think of holding such a dignified tool! Second only to the adventuring warrior. Imagine it, deep within the bowels of the earth, where no gods rule other than the beasts in the dark. Where they slave away at their life’s work to bring up the most beautiful of glittering jewels and heartiest of materials. Have you heard of the horror stories said by experienced miners of their travels into the deepest depths for the chance of even seeing the wondrous adventurers diamond? Many have lost their lives in pursuit of this wonderful material. Only the king of kings can ever hope to see a sword crafted with such a rare item. _

_ Who would have the gall to even consider delving so deep into the realm that only monsters roam? Why do you think miners are so formidable? They must fight through hoards in order to create the very tools used to build kingdoms. They must fight the strongest of mobs for the sake of materials. They face the dangers of running into grand legends who haunt the very halls beneath our surface. If no one is willing to do it, who will? Miners spend years in training, not only on how to survive in every situation but to train how to fight in the most unfair of spaces. If they were to disappear, so would your land. _

_ You have heard of the Crested Elite Guild, no? A duo had come to inspect your mine a while ago when there was trouble. A guild made entirely of fighters and workers who pride themselves in their abilities. The guild that always traveled in pairs. Do you remember fantasizing about that one lad when we were younger? I do. The strong, broad-shouldered, lad who looks like he was barely of age to grow a beard. I remember your gaze behind the fan as you saw the diamond insignia on the back of his cloak. I remember the jealousy as you saw that one spit-fire of a girl at his side, same cloak on her back, and the gleaming sword at her hip. _

_ You may be kind and generous. You may own a prosperous mine, possibly the largest in Jenora, but read closely: our miners have built this world, and they can destroy it.” _

_ -A letter to Madam Gallahana from Lady Havaneri on why she should value her miners. _

  
  


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CHAPTER V: Watch Your Step 

  
  


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Alex leaned on the rail, the waves of the river lapping at its wooden hull. A glass of wine in her hand and a sigh of contentment. A little giddy herself as she had claimed the last two tickets on a boat to the capital. A week trip sleeping in the mob ridden wilderness upgraded to a two-day trip at most on a riverboat. With beds and warm food. They also had to return the horses they borrowed. So it was much easier this way.

It was a tiny vessel for its kind. Able to fit fifteen passengers and then some. But it was a little more spacious than she anticipated. The captain of the boat was a decent fellow, rough around the edges, but kind enough to reserve the last two spaces for her and Steven despite being so last minute. Her thoughts moved forward as the wind blew through her auburn hair and the last rays of the setting sun warmed her face.

The Heathbrough river ran long down the landmass. Thirty meters at its narrowest and around one-hundred-and-fifty at its widest. A very dynamic and crucial river, yeah?

The riverboat Alex had found was as small as they come for commercial use and travel. She herself didn’t mind the close quarters and the fact it was lacking in other commodities. She was sure her traveling companion wouldn’t beg to differ. Speaking of, here came Steven, glass in hand.

“Finally letting yourself loose?” Alex took a sip as her lips curled into a grin.

Steven rolled his eyes as he joined her on the rail, “Ha, as if. Might as well make use of this downtime. I don’t see any harm in a drink.”

Alex cocked her brow with a smirk.

“... A drink.”

Alex nudged his shoulder playfully, “I’m just messing with you.”

“Hmph.”

They stayed like that for a short while. Enjoying the sounds of the distant chatter and the waves against the hull. The sun was soon to set as blooms of orange and reds were chased away by the purples and navy blues of the dawning night. The sun was a good bit over the trees though. Tiny clusters of stars across the murky expanse shone themselves. The faint hues mixing in a chorus of beauty and shape of the mountains growing distant.

She looked at her companion, a man a little over thirty years. Recently, she hadn’t noticed much but there were slight changes in each and every one of his features. There were things she had known since long, long ago, but some details you can’t ignore no matter how much you see.

He looked much of what is described of the islanders in the east. A reclusive people who made their living on the cliffs of a grand lush island shrouded in mystery. Dark bronzed skin, round indigo eyes beneath thick brows, his head was pretty square but soft, not a single edge, even his stubble of a beard faintly outlined his rounded jaw. His nose was wide and a mouth that curled into the gentlest smile. The wind came by and ruffled his frizzy, curly mop of dark-brown hair.

Alex drummed her fingers against the rail. It was odd that he hadn’t cut it in a while. 

There was a scar right under his hairline, a line a little lighter than his own complexion. His brawny arms were littered in fresh scars and scratches she hadn’t seen before. Many were hidden beneath a layer of gauze and bandaging a good while prior. Said he got most of them when he fell down a set of stairs in the crypt. Mainly the one on his forehead.

His hands were a cacophony of small scratches from years of hard work. Heavily calloused hands molded for work only those who dare challenge the deep could have.

There was also the scar across his nose, a shade lighter and a bump across his bridge. Steven never spoke of where he got it from, said he couldn’t remember. It was thought-provoking in the least. The majority of his largest scars, the few that were, he had little recollection of. Of course, you can’t remember every little scrape, but the ones at such caliber should have a story about them... right?

They were puffy and keloid, much larger and more distinct than any others. There was the one on his nose, a lopsided ‘X’ across his lower back, and a thick line on his abdomen. Who knows what could have happened and Alex just shook the thoughts out of her head.

“So what brings you to brood out here all alone?”

Before she could respond, some musicians broke out their instruments and started playing up on the front. Steven turned towards the music, drawn to its sound. He gave Alex a grin before sauntering off towards the music completely forgetting he had asked a question.

She hesitated for a moment, letting the serenity of the dusk soak in before following suit towards the music.

  
  


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Upon the bow of the ship was a party. A trio of musicians jazzing along with the beat as a few couples shimmied around on the dance floor. Hanging lights were strung across the front with a view of the open air. The chill of the afternoon was replaced with laughter and chatter.

Alex saw that Steven had found a seat at the bar, chatting with a young grey-haired man. A different glass in his hand as he laughed. Alex scoffed, one drink my ass. Hopefully, he won’t get into too much trouble while she left to do her own thing. Not like he needed her constant presence, nothing like that; but that man has bad-luck like no other and is too stubborn to succumb to it.

Alex sought to tuck herself away into a quieter corner of the bow-side party overlooking the river head-on. Her glass was long finished and she relaxed gazing towards the stretch of the river ahead of her.

The sun was a bit off to the side, pointing them somewhat southwards. The last pieces of sunlight reflected in the ripples of the river. The occasional little riverside hut with small rowboats bobbing in the gentle current as they were tied to the docks. Alex rolled her shoulders as a man approached her side, a curious air as he observed the long stretch of river with her.

“Quiet evening.” The voice spoke, clear and commanding with a lilt of charisma. Alex ignored the comment, “Shame since there seems to be a storm rising behind us.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“You’ll never know what the future holds, rain holds change.”

Alex turned with an uninterested glance. Before her was a man, young in features, but wildly different in air.

Dark grey hair ruffling in the wind, amber eyes that appear gold in the lamplight, and pale as the desert sand under a moonlit night. He was attractive, Alex would give him that. Alex could see much under his coat, but his pendant was an emerald carved into an octahedron.

The man turned to lean backward on the rail, preferring to face the chatter of other travelers on the boat, “But... that’s just me talking.” He let out a groan as he stretched his neck. Alex refused to reply as he shook his head. “Not one for conversation? Don’t blame you, an adventurer of your caliber would hardly-”

“Forgive me but who are you?” She cut him off, this was the guy Steven was chatting with at the bar.

The man grinned, “Ah, my apologies. Solace, and you are?”

“Alex.”

“Well Alex? What brings you on this trip, doubt it’s for leisure as is the rest of these fine folk.” He gestured to the small group of people that milled about the bar and dining tables.

“Work. Guild work.” Alex said flatly.

“Mercenary or...”

“Close... but no. I manage training and upkeep where my branch has been stationed or called upon. My friend is a group leader when it comes to resource gathering.”

“The miner fellow, Steven? He was telling me a little about that. He seems very enthusiastic when it comes to his job. ‘More play than work for him’ that’s what he told me.” Solace said.

Alex nodded along. The sun was halfway under the horizon. The dark clouds grew closer as a sticky breeze came by. The telltale sign of rain imminent.

“Hey, Alex?” Steven trotted up, interjecting this one-sided conversation, “mind if I have a word?”

“Hm.”

Steven proceeded to drag a very willing Alex away from the man. He led her pretty much to the other end of the bow, the one closer to the riverbank. His grip was a little tighter as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. As he let go, Steven gestured to the side of the river.

“Is it just me or are we closer to the bank than we were?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, “Huh, I think you’re right...” but she shrugged, “Wouldn’t worry about it, the captain knows what he’s doing.”

Steven shifted from foot to foot, “If you say so... I’m going to our room if you want to find me.”

“Possibly, bye Steven.”

“G’night Alex, don’t get too frisky with that guy.”

“Yeah right,”

Alex hummed as she watched his teal shirt disappear through the thin crowd. He went straight through the door that led to a hallway where all of the passenger rooms were located. She contemplated following but focused on the clouds that blotted out much of the stars behind them.

A shiver ran down her back as the wind picked up. A wave of stickier air along with it. Such forewarnings that sent her nerves haywire. It’s just rain...

She resolved to follow closely behind and head to bed, as the chatter and laughter that refused to die down started to hurt her head. She glanced around for the man, Solace, to find him conversing at the bar. He gave her a glance and a grin before turning back to his conversation.

Alex left without another word.

  
  


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Steven tossed and turned. His gut was twisting and turning. Something felt wrong as his nerves only tensed up. Nothing would let him sleep. There was a bad feeling in his gut, no way around that. He wasn’t nauseous, disturbed might be a better word for it. Seasickness was easily thrown out of the equation. It was a bad feeling. Plain and simple. Can’t exactly say much other than that.

Alex had retired a little after he did and was sleeping soundly in the bed across from his. He tried falling asleep as she had, but this image keeps haunting him. No matter what he did, he would wake up with a gasp. 

The first time the image was of a trident slick with blood and kept assaulting every thought he had. It was sitting in a cave with no opening but from above where a single ray of moonlight hit it. It buzzed with malice and power he couldn’t describe. It tried speaking to him.

‘Hide. Hide when it comes.’

It was bizarre. The second time he closed his eyes, it was the same but it was lying in the grass in front of a cave, midnight looming overhead.

‘Rush when it attacks.’

This is getting ridiculous. What kind of person imagines a weapon telling them to run? Was he overreacting about something? Maybe. Was it because he saw a platoon of mobs get really close to the shore? Maybe... Was it also that it felt like each mob was looking at him and only him? Yes. It was also that the boat was steered uncomfortably close to the bank, and it seemed that he was the only one to notice.

The scene shifted to the boat, but all the lights were out. He was lying on his belly arm outstretched trying to reach a weapon.

‘It’s coming. Fight till your last breath.’

Steven opened his eyes to see a wooden ceiling, the same one he had been staring at for a while. He turned his head to see Alex was gone. The clock pointed out that it was thirty minutes before eleven. His companion must have risen to get some last bits of energy and tension out before heading back. But what if she... What if something happens? No that’s ridiculous.

Okay so maybe he is overreacting, it can’t be that bad. It can’t be bad at all. His survival instincts have gone haywire these pasts weeks or so. He’s jumping at every little shadow or bump in the night. If he’s going to be like this might as well pass the time. Steven rolled to the edge of the bed and groped around for his bag. Got it.

He pulled the satchel up and ruffled around for anything to keep his attention before he actually slept.

As he rooted around, a small leather-bound book surfaced. The journal. He had forgotten all about it. He took it out and observed the binding that made the cover. Nothing had changed. Steve let the clasp open and contemplated it. Who knows what other little tidbits could be hidden. Maybe even something that he could use to calm his mind.

He peeled the cover open and flipped to where he last left off. It was describing a bit about the magic that Steven already knew, and, at the time of it’s writing, normal humans could use a large vocabulary and were creating a new language to cast more efficiently.

That’s cool to know. Suddenly the journal stopped from being an ordinary narrative of information to suddenly an actual journal entry. Date and everything. The year, sadly, was scratched out.

‘ _ April 15, XXXX’ _

_ ‘In my experiences with The Hero, he gladly showed off many of his inhuman abilities that only the most elite of mages could even muster at such stamina. What I mean is that many mages can do what he does, but he has such unbridled stamina that they would faint at the second fireball and he would continue without breaking a sweat. It’s quite the show in my opinion. _

_ He has told me about his influence on minds, human minds. Non-sentient creatures obey to an extent, even more so when it’s directed at them. But the Hero has described, from another’s words, that it was disorienting and everything the day after was hazy or even rewritten. _

_ I asked to experience this myself and felt as if building a tiny shack was all my idea! I dislike such work as it strains my back, but I felt geared up to do it. My memory grew hazy as different things were placed in my head instead of reality. It truly was a bizarre experience. _

_ The Hero is very also adept at changing his shape; but prefers, as he’s told me, to only change small parts like his face or body. He claims that changing into an animal is impossible for him, but he does have a solution: The Hero prefers to ‘possess’ any creature he deems capable and let me tell you it’s as bizarre as it sounds.  _

_ Last time he showed me this shapeshifting ability he did it to a wild wolf that trotted by. He just knelt down and touched foreheads, then disappeared into dust! The wolf then had bright white eyes as The Hero did his thing. _

_ I, being the scientist I am, took out a spare bone and... threw it. I wish I could describe how the wolf’s ears perked up immediately and dashed for it. Tail wagging all the way back until he dropped it at my feet. _

_ Who knew a dog could emote such disgust as he realized what had just happened. I wonder if he still does mind-reading?  _

_ Oh and that was a fireball shot vaguely in my direction. From the distance, it looks like he’s questioning whether or not to apologize. Ha, nice try. _ ’ 

He turned to the next page... only to find it suddenly cuts off with half the page ripped out. The handwriting was vastly different than the one he was just reading, it was larger and written with a heavier hand. But despite that, it was in a uniform cursive that even Steven had difficulty reading.

It was written in a different alphabet for the most part. The cursive for the parts he could recognize. Was this the part that the librarian said was in the ancient lexicon? Half of it was torn out anyways and clearly was written by someone else.

The page abruptly stops near the second paragraph. Whatever else was written had been blotched out with ink or stolen in the rest of the missing page. On the next page, it was blank except for a single sentence in the familiar handwriting.

‘ _ What had been shared and drawn on the previous page... I have learned my lesson and will be keeping this book under tighter security.’ _

_ ‘You are very welcome. -B _ ’ A mischievous note was written next to it.

Steven paused to imagine what these two would have looked like with such friendly banter. Two men, in an empty field one sitting on a rock hastily scribbling into a journal as the other is casting spell after spell. Something seen only in dreams and paintings.

But up close... who would they be? Similar but not quite? Able to change his face to suit his needs. Steven’s mind gravitated towards the page with the face. It looked exactly like him right? When he last looked at the drawing, it was an exact copy of his own features, just a little Out of morbid curiosity he flipped through the pages until he landed right on it. He slipped a finger in between the pages and closed the book. He leaned back in preparation and sighed.

‘ _ It’s just an image, what harm could it be? _ ’

Before he could even begin searching for the page, he was thrown off balance. Steven was knocked out of his thoughts as the boat rocked violently along with a loud crash from the outside. Everything followed by a chorus of yells and thumps. Steven leaped off his bed, aimed for his iron sword, and bolted out the door in a single fluid motion.

The hallway where the majority of the travelers were residing was chaotic to say the least. People were rushing in and out of rooms, grabbing weapons, throwing on armor, escorting others. A frenzied bald man pressed an iron breastplate (that covered only the upper half of his torso), a left shoulder-pad, and a pair of light gauntlets in his hands before running off.

He pressed himself flat against the wall as a woman was ushering a group of people through the hallway. A young man darted past him and flew up the stairs, a hunting bow strapped to his back. A few people were running through the hall as Steven wormed his way to the exit.

Steven broke through the door with a grunt to see all hell had broken loose on the rim of the boat. The vessel had been attacked by a swarm of undead mobs as they crawled over each other to get on the boat. All zombies thankfully.

Alex was a flurry of motion as she repelled each and every undead that tried to board. Another fellow was quick to shove many of the successful ones off as others were securing the perimeter. Even that gray-haired one was out here.

“Alex?!” Steven yelled. Instantly, the few undead nearby snapped their focus onto him as they tried to clamber up. A few hands reaching towards him even though he was way too far for their reach.

Steven drew his sword, “aether-dammit,” and then he swung.

He started making noise with yells as the hoard began concentrating on his position. Steven stepped back and once a zombie got high enough he would lurch and swing, heads rolled as they let go of the boat. Alex caught on quickly and started targeting the area in the same technique. Letting some zombies climb over and swiftly dispatching them.

Many of the other parts thinned as the zombies concentrated on attacking this one area.

“How many injured?” Steven called as he used the flat edge to push away a zombie and decapitate another.

“None surprisingly, Hiraah!” She yelled as her blade cut cleanly through a line of assaulting mobs, “They seemed to be trained on you!”

“Not sure if that’s a good or bad thing!” Steven quipped back before focusing on the fight ahead of him. A hail of arrows lodged themselves in multiple mobs, a small group of archers had climbed to a vantage point and maimed a good number.

From appearance, the majority of the zombies were crowded around the tip of the boat where Steven and Alex were fighting. The more Steven yelled, the more the zombies turned to focus. He ducked and lobbed an arm off of one and kicked another off the side of the boat.

Steven felt eyes burning into his back. He made the mistake of glancing towards the bank where he locked gazes with an armored figure. Red beady eyes came from under a plated helmet. A trident on its back, one Steven had never seen a likeness to before. It growled something in a language. It’s voice like sharp rocks wheezing.

‘Hide. Hide when it comes.’

“Alex...”

Her voice wavered, “What the hell is that? Some weird-ass drowned?”

“It’s trained on me.” Steven gestured quickly to the armored one that stood a full head taller than the rest of the mobs. It’s attention never left Steven.

‘Rush when it attacks,’

Steven had an idea, an extremely risky one, but a risk that he was willing to take. The fact that this thing could control these mindless zombies like that? He needed to get it away from the civilians and perfect that it was dead set on his anyways. He sheathed his sword, 

“A...Alex! Watch for more mobs, I’m going to lead it away from the boat!”

‘It’s coming. Fight till your last breath.

“Like hell you are!” She yelled back, “You are NOT setting foot off this boat.” Alex reached the collar of his shirt but he was already one step ahead, “ **STEVEN!** ”

He ran and leaped off the boat, soaring over the heads of the hoard and precisely rolling from the momentum. He was on his feet in a second. Fuzz swarmed his head after his landing but he snapped out of it quickly and readied his iron sword with a huff. The Entity was trained on him and him alone.\

The armored thing wheezed and moaned as it stepped forward. It raised it’s open hand and clenched. Each and every remaining undead mob immediately turned to the figure and began scrambling away from the boat. Their moans panicked and wheezing as they scampered away.

‘It’s coming. Fight till your last breath.

He rushed towards it with a yell.

“ _ Shriiiing, _ ” The Entity unsheathed the trident from it’s back and immediately blocked Steven’s attack. He grunted as the force against his blade was stronger than he anticipated. His arms strained against the weight of the trident.

Steven released and leaped back and began circling around the Entity. The Entity lifted the trident, the three prongs in the air, and began twirling the weapon in the air. Mist and electric sparks came from the weapon and shocked parts of the creature's arm, but it only waved faster. The wind picked up as the drizzling sky turned into a torrent of rain in a matter of moments.

Steven shielded his face from the needles of rain. The Entity gave a distorted laugh as it swung harder. Steven lunged but a massive gust of wind had him flying back. Sword flying out of his hands as he hit a tree. Forcing all of the air out his lungs. He jolted as a soreness racked through his body, the Entity still waving it’s trident creating an even greater barrage of rain. Steven pushed past the pain and returned.

“Hey Edgelord! Stop making puddles and fight me!” He taunted.

The Entity stopped and reeled back. Instead of charging it lifted it’s trident and aimed to throw. Small sparks of electricity bouncing off the prongs and zapping parts of the entity’s gauntlet. That wasn’t a good sign.

Steven continued his taunt as the entity fired its trident. In a blinding flash, the tree next to him was burnt to a crisp as the crackling of lightning faded. Steven flinched away as the booming thunder from the strike racked him to the core. But he saw another opportunity.

Steven yanked the trident out of the charred wood and raised it. The buzz from the static heavy and faintly uncomfortable in his hand, “Want it back? Gotta catch me first!” And Steven took off. A seething murderous entity nipping at his heels.

  
  


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Alex screamed as Steven took off, her threats falling on deaf ears as he disappeared through the torrent of heavy rain. She backed away from the edge as she sheathed her sword. She was going to go after him and kill him herself.

Steven weaved through trees, breezing past mobs that littered the forest. The clanking and loud thuds of the entity was closing in behind him. He felt a chill and the whistle of the wind. He dodged to the side as a flurry of sparks skated inches from his face and thunked into a tree. The trunk was covered in burn marks as he veered in another direction.

Bastard didn’t have the trident so what the hell was that?

A few arrows thwacked into the earth as skeletons aimed. A creeper jumped out and began fizzing. Steven zigzagged but an arrow cut through and grazed his side. It burned like the nether but it’s all life and death now.

He refused to let his pace falter as he dodged a boulder on his right, then a hoard of zombies on his left, and kept over a fallen log. The earth was a mixture of grass, mud, moss, and loose leaves, and the spikes of adrenaline every time he left something shifted beneath him.

He skidded to a halt in a small clearing. He noticed mobs surrounding him but didn’t leave the edge of the trees. He held tightly to the buzzing weapon as he whipped around to face the entity.

The staff was made out of prismarine and the prongs of silver daggers that curved slightly inward with an extra hook, like fishing hooks but wider. An oval sat on the crest that connected the prongs to the rest of the staff. It’s cream light faintly glowed as much tinier pebbles no bigger than a grain of rice was imprinted into four lines down the staff and around the handle. It was a glorious weapon despite its humble ancestry.

The entity came charging through the foliage and halted about seven meters away from Steven. Its side faced him and it was breathing heavily under the shifting plates of waterlogged armor. It snorted and raised its arm and hand, fingers spread as if reaching for him.

Steven felt the weapon tug against his grasp. Like a powerful magnet calling it away, he struggled against the pull. The entity huffed again and lurched forward calling the trident again. Steven felt his boot slide against the wet grass as the trident began pulling him along. His fingers were losing their grip. He strained against the force and then it was ripped from his grasp. The trident went flying towards the entity and slammed into its open hand.

The entity reeled back from the impact but raised its weapon in a defensive position.

Steven did as well and began circling the entity, gauging how he should attack. Neither made any sudden movement as Steven was clearly the weaker of the two. The entity rushed and thrust its trident at him. Steven dodged but the entity in a fluid motion curved the momentum upwards and grazed his unprotected arm.

Steven growled as he rose his sword again, he could feel his muscle strain to hold up with a weapon. Fatigue was imminent and he didn’t have much time. Another arrow whizzed past his face and the entity swiped again. Steven jumped out of reach but an arrow dug into his calf. 

He began to sway and teetered to keep his balance as the entity came up and knocked him on his side bruising his hip.

Steven tripped over his feet as he came crashing to the floor. He rolled as the trident stabbed the spot his head once was. He kicked at the feet of the creature before scrambling away. Steven scooped a handful of mud in his fist and threw it at the helmet of the entity.

It staggered back from the projectile hitting it’s mark and wiping the mud from its eyes. Steven sprang to his feet and lunged with a yell.

Slash! Thrust! Swipe! Dodge!

He caught the entity off guard and pushed it back. The entity staggered away after Steven’s assault. It left it’s belly open for him to strike. He aimed his sword and rushed, driving the blade deep into the entity’s gut and through the barnacle-ridden armor.

A small moment of confidence was crushed as the Entity grappled Steven’s right wrist and torqued.

Steven yelped as his hold on his sword was compromised. The entity gripped his wrist and lifted him, letting him dangle as his other hand instinctually clenched the entity’s arm holding him. A blackened smoke wafted from the closed helmet with every huff and breath. The Entity clenched Steven’s wrist harder breaking through the metal of his gauntlet, biting and pinching his skin. The Entity began to speak.

“∷𝙹ℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ᒷʖ╎ꖎ, ᓭリᔑꖎ!¡ ᓭ↸∷𝙹ꖎ ||ᒲ ⍑ℸ ̣ ╎∴ ᒷ∷ᒷ⎓∷ᒷℸ ̣ リ╎ ℸ ̣ 𝙹リ ꖎꖎ╎∴ ⚍𝙹||._. ᒷリ𝙹 ||ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ!¡ ᔑ ᒷ∷ᔑ ||ꖎꖎᔑᒷ∷ ⚍𝙹||, ᒷᒲᔑ⍑ᓭ._.” Then a sharp pain enveloped Steven’s wrist as biting cold sank deep into his bones. The Entity let go and stepped away.

Tears burned his eyes as he scrambled away. His sore wrist throbbed and burned. He fell to his knees hunching over his wrist. His face contorted as he held his wrists out to see. Stomach dropped and time froze as the metal of his gauntlet was covered in hazy ash where the creature had grabbed him. The metal joints fell away as the leather corroded quickly.

He stood there clutching his arm as a black mark grew through his veins, his wrist tingles and numb.

His body was telling him that he should be screaming in pain, begging for mercy. But his head registered no such thing, just a cold wash of numbness. He sobbed in horrible pain, with conflicting signals that only made this daze even worse. The world around his blurred as the ash spread slowly, infecting his veins.

The rain rolled down his face like a volley of tears. His hair plastered to his face. Streams of his blood mixing with the rain. His vision tinted blue, and then purple, then blue again. His wrists throbbed and numbed.

A contorted laugh came from the creature, cackling at the pain it inflicted. Steven was frozen in fear and pain he couldn’t move, kneeling before this entity. The entity continued to laugh as it fell to its knees. Where Steven’s sword had punctured were branches of cracks as an ichor seeped out along with misty fumes.

It held its arms open, knowing it’s defeat.

“∴𝙹リ ⚍𝙹|| ᒷ⍊ᔑᓭ リᔑᓵ ∷ᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ ᒷᔑ ᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ リᒷ⍊ᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹リ._. ↸𝙹⊣ ᔑ ⎓𝙹 ∷𝙹ℸ ̣ ╎ᔑℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᔑ⍑ℸ ̣ ↸リᔑ ↸ᔑᒷ⍑-↸ᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ᔑ⍑ℸ ̣ ⍑ℸ ̣ ╎∴ ⊣リ𝙹ꖎᔑ ⍑ᓭ╎∷ᒷ!¡ ꖎꖎ╎∴ ⚍𝙹|| ↸リᔑ ⚍𝙹|| ∷𝙹⎓ ⊣リ╎ᒲ𝙹ᓵ ᒷʖ ꖎꖎ╎∴ ∷ᒷℸ ̣ ᓭᔑᒲ ||ᒲ ∴𝙹リꖌ ℸ ̣ ⚍ʖ._. ∷𝙹ℸ ̣ ᓵ╎⍊ ᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ ⎓ꖎᒷᓭ∷⚍𝙹|| ᒷᒲᔑリ ↸リᔑ ℸ ̣ ╎ ⍑ᓭ╎リ╎⎓._.” It cackled again, knowing its last words fell on deaf ears.

Warily, Steven got to his feet and inched closer, tears of rain dripping down his face as his vision bled into a stronger vibrancy of blue and purple. A sheen caught in the dull reflection of the entity’s armor.

Time to finish this. He marched right up to the entity offering itself to him. Steven took the handle of his sword, with both good and bad hand, and drew it back.

It was covered in a strange watery ichor, the emanated fumes were sour. His turned to the entity again, a single red eye appeared from beneath the helm.

“ℸ ̣ ╎ 𝙹↸._.”

Steven lifted his sword and plunged it in a chest-plate gap of the entity and torqued his sword. He backed away as the victor of this battle. Those unintelligible words haunted him. It was like a grate against his ears.

To his bewilderment, the entity fizzled as a mist came from inside the grey armor. Slowly the fizzling got louder as the entire corpse dissolved into puffs of smoke. Armor and everything. Leaving the mystical trident behind for Steven to grab.

He blinked.

His vision cleared. The hail of rain mellowed around him as the glow of the stones receded to hardly anything, the enchantment calming as well. Steven inched forward, not even sludge nor dust was left of the entity. Just the barnacle ridden trident and the pungent scent of seawater. Steven picked up the trident and raised it to his chest, sending a pulse into the air that halted the rain into a drizzle. Steven whipped around as the clacking of bones and hoarse groans came from all around.

He took off running to the cliff-face without another thought.

  
  


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Alex was running through the forest. Staggered pockets of mobs remained in the forest as she led a group of people away from the river. There was a problem when creepers caught the scent of the fight and... well, you can guess what had happened. A good chunk was lost, sadly.

Many kept slipping or tottering as the rain pelted down on their backs. The water soaked them to the bone and weighed them down. The patches of mud aren’t helping either.

Pulling others along, she continued running and noticed an outcropping up ahead. And that’s when the rain let up, the storm lessened to a drizzle just as suddenly as it came. And from that, through the clearing they neared, was a cave, scaffolding holding the entrance up. A mine? It was obvious as rusted tools and piles of support logs laid overgrown in the clearing. It was abandoned, but it would do perfectly.

She nearly slipped when she saw a light from under the outcropping, it’s holder sported a trident on it’s back and the light going this way and that as it moved around.

As she got closer, the teal shirt and navy jeans were obvious as Steven held out his sword as a zombie fell in front of him. The mob dispersed into a cloud of smoke and left nothing but a slab of rotted flesh. She was confused but there were more pressing things to be worried about.

She glanced back to see the survivors still following and a man covering the rear. Alex darted in, halted next to Steven (who jumped out of his skin when she nearly tackled him), and began giving orders. One by one each of the survivors darted in. Alex remained on point as two young men took to guarding the rear instead, picking off a few enemies with arrows as the group ran further into the mine.

Steven handed her his lamp and followed the last person in.

  
  


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They had gotten well into the abandoned mine. The scent of mildew and dust deeply seated in here. There was a chill as faint breezes from the storm outside wafted through the descending tunnels. It was dark as all hell, no one could see a thing but they grasped onto each other as they continued.

The mine itself was large, halls and winding roads that went up and down and curled into each other. Pockets empty of ores and valuables. It was about three meters wide and the support beams were made to last.

The mobs must have either given up or contemplated on what to do as Alex slowed to a walk. The gaggle of survivors behind her mumbling to themselves.

Her brows creased as she held a fist up, the muttering hushed as it was only the dripping of water and their breaths that echoed down the mine. She sighed in relief. Steven’s lamp incandescent and lit up only a patch ahead of them.

The trail was a standard run of the mill mine. A long, hardly downward sloping, straight hall lined with extinguished torches and supported by rotted oak supports. The grey stone poked with holes, it’s treasures long gone. The lamp fire was stark against the darkness, but even then the threshold of the fire’s light was short.

Alex rolled her shoulders as Steven quickened up to be at her side.

She opened her mouth to speak but shushed as his indigo eyes reflected a striking pale color in the light. It reminded her of a cat’s eyes as he stepped into the threshold of the fire and all forms of the reflected light were gone. In place were those familiar eyes, weary and tired. She shook her head and blamed exhaustion. Even if her priority was the rest of these survivors, it was a comfort.

“Let me lead,” Steven said.

Alex handed him back the lamp, “You’ve mined here before?”

“A few years ago, I was assigned to lead an expedition into a ravine they tapped into. First thing I did was secure escape routes and alternate exits if anything goes sour. We’ll find one just a little farther.”

A young man, one of the musicians, sighed, “That’s a relief.”

“We aren’t trapped? Thank the aether.” Another huffed.

Alex walked a hair behind his shoulder.

The mine continued downwards for a long while. The pattern of rotted support beam, torch, thing, torch, rotted support beam seemed to be unending in this tunnel. It was a winding road ever downwards with only a few branching paths, narrower than the one they went down.

Then one of the branching tunnels hissed and clicked. Sets of red arachnid eyes were set on the walking group of survivors. The rattling of bones and groaning following suit. Everyone took off as a cluster of spiders lunged at the one’s lagging.

“Alex, whatever happens, you need to keep running. There’s another exit through a cave farther down. Take a left at the fork and go up, you know I’ve mined here before and please don’t stop!” Steven yelled, falling from point.

Alex nodded as she resumed and ran faster, urging the rest of the group to do the same. Steven lagged in the back, sword drawn. The mobs weren’t that far behind, but there was only one way to go. He turned around to swipe at a few arachnids that got too close and stayed at the end.

The cavern had opened up immensely, about a full two meters as the support beams got thicker. The temperature dropped as another resonance rivaled their stampeding racket. Alex shot her hand out as the opening turned into a long ravine, a narrow rope bridge connecting them to their salvation.

It looked to be decades old and hardly in shape to hold a person’s weight, let along a whole frenzied group of them. The supports were in the shape of an arch that stuck into the side of the ravine walls, not going the full length down.

Parts of the rope were frayed as pieces of the wooden under-arch-support were loose and wobbled. The furnace boards were rotted with holes throughout the wooden structure. It was in disrepair but there was no time to lose. Alex went first, carefully and slowly gauging each step. She made it across and so did everyone following suit.

A cry erupted from the back as the mobs had clogged the tunnel and were gaining. The hollow faces of creepers joining the mix. People began to push and shove to get across. Straining the bridge more than it should.

A snap echoed through the ravine as the bridge jolted.

Steven positioned himself and unsheathed the new weapon. He took the trident, aimed, and fired. The weapon soaring through the space and skewering the front line of mobs. He opened his palm, urging the weapon back. It felt like a string tied to his fingers and forehead, pulling him gently.

And the weapon came back.

Steven skid slightly as the impact of the loyalty enchantment hit him. He had a little more time. He looked over his shoulder to see the last person was meters from the end. He shot the trident once again and sprinted away.

The chorus of clattering, moans, and indignant hissing following close behind as he summoned the trident and sheathed it.

He was halfway when a spider-jockey aimed its bow at him. The air whooshed as the arrow flew, missing the target. It sunk into a weak support and severed a rope. The cord slithered as the tension it carried snapped. The support leaned away, tearing and dislocating the joints attached.

Alex knelt as she reached out her hand, one of the younger men securing her waist as she leaned. Another latching on to further her reach.

Steven leaped off the crumbling bridge. He felt an arrow land in his back as a few others flew by him. The group shied away from the edge as he met Alex’s grip. He hovered over fifty meters of air as he latched onto her, dangling.

He hissed as he glanced at the small point of ask on his wrist. The more he flexed to hold on, the more is spasmed. He couldn’t feel his hand anymore.

Alex took a hold of his other hand but it was hopeless. He was slipping, and fast. His boots had no traction on the stone face. And Alex couldn’t pull him up fast enough.

Another volley of arrows was shot at them and one sunk into her arm.

A panicked cry erupted from his throat as he slid from her grasp. His eyes went wide as he met Alex’s. His mouth was open but no sound could come out. Steven pawed at the edge for a split second before gravity took full effect.

For that short moment, with anguish, he cried her name.

It was a full twenty seconds of weightlessness.

Debris crashing around him as the soughing of the underground river got louder.

Steven crashed into the freezing water. Air knocked out of his lungs as he collided violently with sharp rocks beneath the surface. The current tossing him to and fro. Knocking against the pillars of boulders that had eroded over time. Each hit had an arrowhead forced deeper into his muscle, he was sure the shaft had broken in the initial impact.

Beneath the somewhat-calm gurgling of the underground river lied a deadly torrent. He was knocked back and forth as he flailed. He was hitting rocks left and right, crashing into fallen boulders and scraping against sharp stones. He opened his eyes to find nothing but darkness as his mind blurred. He needed air but no matter how hard he fought he couldn’t break the surface.

His head collided with a rock as he continued flailing in the water. Bubbles burst from his mouth as he panicked. His low eyesight got worse as he tried to not inhale the rushing water. His lungs ached and begged for release, his head growing dizzy from the impact.

His heart thumped in his head as his lungs ached. He swam up and up until his hand brushed the edge of something. He grasped it greedily and pulled himself up. He breached with a gasp as he hacked and spat water out of his lungs. The grainy and rough texture beneath his freezing hands said he had found a piece of the bridge.

One of the many floating debris.

It would work.

The current beneath the surface pulled at his toes with it’s swirling hands trying to drag him back under. He held onto the debris for dear life. More pieces were pushed by and many broke against the barrage of rocks.

Steven’s body pulsed with cold pain. He forced his body to kick towards the edge of the river. It was nothing but ringing in his ears and freezing water biting into his skin. He remembered a flat plane on either side. He could reach that and dig a way out. He just had to reach it.

Then his hearing kicked in. There was a sound that came from farther down the underground river of hell. His instinct told him it was loud as it rang and reached his ears like the sound of static. The more his swam towards the edge, the more the sound cleared. He heard the crashing of water. Hails of it echoed. Steven swore as he kicked further towards the edge. His body trembled even more.

The hastening water, the sound of it, pulsed with terror. He reached for the edge but found nothing but a flat wall. The edge was only the wall of a tunnel. A tunnel that led to a sinkhole, a waterfall, and he was about to fall in.

Steven swam for dear life but the sough of the current overwhelming. His equipment still weighed him down as he fought for dear life. He felt the torrent increase and spit him into the open air. He was rendered deaf with the wind zipping past his ears. His body went limp and shivered from everything. A defeated cry erupted from his throat.

Ice cold water spraying around his body.

The world seemed to slow as he reached out to the open, his eyes full of tears, the child in him waiting for a guardian angel to take his hand and save him. The luminescent stones that glittered like stars. He made a wish in that split second. He wished for many things but doubted they would come true.

He hated the fact that he was doomed to drown, confused, in the dark. He wept for his comrades that will never share a drink with him again. He wept for guilt that he will never report to again. He shed his final tears for Alex...

Time resumed as his thoughts were swallowed by the bottom of the falls.

Steven felt his body collide painfully with the water below. His world turned to fuzz as each of his senses blanked out and he was left with nothing but aching pain and his own thoughts.

His lungs filled and caused them to burn and spasm.

He swore he felt the aether calling to him, telling him to come home as he inhaled more water.

But there was no light, only numbness, and a cold unfeeling void.

“ᓭℸ ̣ ᒷ⍊ᒷリ 𝙹⎓ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷𝙹リᓵꖎ╎⎓⎓ᒷ, ||𝙹⚍ ᓵ𝙹リℸ ̣ ╎リ⚍ᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭ⚍∷!¡∷╎ᓭᒷ ᒲᒷ._. ||𝙹⚍ ⎓╎⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ᒷ⍊ᒷリ ╎⎓ ||𝙹⚍ ꖌリ𝙹∴ ||𝙹⚍ ᓵᔑリリ𝙹ℸ ̣ ∴╎リ._. ╎ ⍊ᔑꖎ⚍ᒷ ᓭ⚍ᓵ⍑ ᓭℸ ̣ ∷ᒷリ⊣ℸ ̣ ⍑ ╎リ ᒲ𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ᔑꖎᓭ._. ╎ ᓭ⍑ᔑꖎꖎ ʖᒷᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹∴ ||𝙹⚍ ᒲ|| ʖꖎᒷᓭᓭ╎リ⊣, ⚍ᓭᒷ ╎ℸ ̣ ∴ᒷꖎꖎ ꖎ╎ʖᒷ∷ᔑℸ ̣ 𝙹∷._.”

  
  


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_ (A.N. Hi thank you for reading. I’ve been lagging with this chapter as I’ve been seriously planning out the next few chapters! _

_ A shout out to all of you who have stuck with me these past few months and talked to me. I appreciate y’all so much. I know I don’t update consistently and am pretty scatterbrained when it comes to this. But really I appreciate the comments, kudos, and whatever else y’all do. _

_ Steven really needs a lucky charm for all this BS he’s been going through. Hm... _

_ I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!) _

  
  


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	6. Strange Places and Stranger People

**This chapter was edited on 6/25/2020**

  
  


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_The water swirled around me. I felt nothing but the ice scratching me and the burn down my throat. My eyes stung as the light above faded into distorted ripples. Why is it so cold, what had happened? I fell through the ice and my heavy coat only weighed me down._

_A gash oozed blood, a red cloud that blurred the already dim light. Bubbles flew from my lips and rose to freedom while I sunk further and further. I can’t move, I can’t breathe. My fate lies with this tomb of eternal freezing currents._

_The world tries to speak, to comfort me, but its speech is muffled and warbled. Deep rumblings and the mystical cracking of the shifting ice. It’s beautiful but haunting. But through the whispers they told me it’s barely been a few seconds._

_I wanted to believe them, to make eternity seem longer and maybe an inkling of hope that the light will save me. But I sank deeper and deeper, the cold formed ice in my joints as everything stung. A blur moved in front of my eyes, blocking out the light. It got larger and larger till it reached for me._

_The blur latched to my wrist and yanked. White pain flashed through my body as I was jostled up. It wrapped around my waist as the light grew unbearable. Was this what death felt like? Something yanked harder and harder. Bubbles expelled from my mouth as I cried in pain. I breached with a gasp, water gushing from my mouth as I hacked up ice. I shivered. I fell. But I fell into safety. And I felt gravity upon my shoulders once again._

  
  


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CHAPTER VI: Strange Places and Stranger People

  
  


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Steven awoke to a chill, though not as drastic as his dream. Or was it a memory? He laid on his belly upon a bed of something soft yet firm. His hands twitched and moved, the bed shifted beneath it. The rest of his body stirred and this strange bed moved along too.

Steven cracked an indigo eye open as light blinded him. The world was unfocused as it spun in doubles and triples. Steven brought an arm to rub his eyes as his chest convulsed. He coughed up specks of water as his throat itched terribly. His vision cleared to see a flat plain of earthy sand before him. Clear water lapped at the bank and brushed up his legs as the braver ones washed over his back.

He pushed himself up and winced as every inch of his body was sore but mellowed in a moment. He flipped himself over to sit in the sand and cracked his joints and stretched out his back. It was a relieving feeling and the expanse of the grotto before him was a deep and dark cavern.

A small half-submerged tunnel carried an obvious current that ran through the grotto and into another tunnel on the other far end. Stalactites hung from the roof as little bits of glittering moisture and reflective stone outlines the shape of the cavern.

Beams of sunlight glittered the refractive ripples of the underground river.

Wait... beams?

Steven twisted around and his jaw dropped. He sat there, eyes wide as his body spurred to life. His heart thumped in his ears as he twisted around again and stood on his knees gazing up his greatest discovery yet.

Steven washed up on the bank of a sprawling city carved entirely of stone. Terraces dug out of the mounds of rock and into the sides of the cavern. Crumbling towers littered the skyline as exaggerated waves of buildings built upon the cliff-faces stretched for what looked to be possibly three kilometers or more of just dense city.

More of the ruined city was hidden behind grand and thick walls that are larger than anything he had ever seen. There were multiple sections of these walls that gradually got further and further away as if sectioning off districts.

In the far distance was a large castle that overlooked the entire city. A long winding road led up to it’s crumbling gates. Multiple cathedral-like buildings stood out as well with the equally mesmerizing architecture. He could hardly see the detail but knew it was there.

The ruined city looked to be an ancient metropolis of sorts and it felt familiar. Steven shook his head, a wave of deja vu slapped him in the face. Impossible, his excitement must have gotten the best of him.

But what was even better was that it was naturally lit by gaping holes in the ceiling. Rimmed with emerald green foliage and enormous vines that hung and steeped through the open air. The actual ceiling was far and Steven estimated that these vines must have been three meters in diameter at the smallest. Green bushes grew on the sides of these colossal vines as the surface of the vines were as craggy and brown as an oak tree. The entire city was covered in lush overgrown foliage and only added to the mystic and adventurous charm.

Without tearing his eyes away, he felt for anything familiar in the sand. His hand landed on a piece of driftwood that laid directly next to him. Besides, that was his bag and tools, soggy but unharmed, at least to the naked eye. To his other side was the trident two meters away, partially covered by the earthy sand.

With a groan Steven pushed himself up and got to his knees, his back popping in the process. The gentle waves still lapped at his feet as he steadied himself up. His back popped as his muscles complained, he was sore all over. And lifting his shirt also told that he was pretty bruised as well.

Steven picked himself up and slung his pack over his shoulder. He winced as the leather was heavy and felt the water still inside slosh around. Maybe he should let it air out for a bit.

Steven tipped the bag a little and a small stream of water and dark sand came from the corner as the rest leaked from the seams. He sighed and set the bag on the driftwood, focus turning towards the trident a few meters away.

As Steven stepped forwards to get his new weapon something shifted beneath his foot. He jolted back to see the lump he stepped on was merely a shard of iridescent glass poking out. Steven nudged it. The sand shifted and fell, the shard moving to the side and a thin, black, leather cord trailed after it. He unearthed this thing from the dark sand and held it eye-to-eye.

It looked to be some sort of four-pointed star made of slightly translucent glass. The main body of this tiny shard, no more than possibly four centimeters long and wide, was a cloudy cream and the edges, being much more transparent, shined a light blue with small gold flakes for fractals within the body. A hole was drilled into the middle for the leather cord to slip through. He slipped the leather cord over his head, and with a little bit of wriggling, had it sitting happily around his neck. He had no idea what it was, but it was pretty and that was enough for him.

He resumed to retrieve his trident, but as he bent down the pronged-weapon glowed for a split second as it rose and began dematerializing into small squares. Steven jerked his arms up shielding his face as the dematerialized-trident-squares suddenly flew at him.

But nothing happened.

Hardly a tickle on his chest.

He peeked through the fingers of his outstretched hand to see the most bizarre sight yet.

It was a large, gray, translucent interface with a three-by-nine grid taking up the majority of the space and another one-by-nine line beneath that was just a little disconnected. Above that grid was a two-by-two with an arrow pointing to a single box on the very right and next to that had his heart leap into his throat.

There... There was an exact mini-replica of himself standing idly with no emotion staring at nothing. On either side was a column of boxes with little etchings. On the bottom right of the mini-Steven was a button with an arrow pointing to the right. Steven raised his hand and tapped it. He felt only air but the interface changed.

The boxes by the mini-Steven changed etchings and one of them had an item in it. It looked like the cuboid version of the necklace he found. He hovered over it and that’s when a tag popped up.

“Shard necklace: I don’t know what this is but it’s pretty.”

Wait a second.

Steven shook his head as the grey interface began to click. Madame Frey... the look-a-like had something like this as well. But... but... OK, y’know what? Screw it. This is my life now and I’m going to embrace it. But what about this ancient technology, and all this other stuff?

What else did she say... something, something, being cryptic, cubes, uh... yeah.

Steven opted to move on before he gave himself a headache.

Steven waved his hand, like in the parlor, and the screen dissolved into cubes. Weird.

Nearby, his pack still sat on the log. Steven grimaced at the feeling of soggy leather on his back but shrugged it off. He really needs to get a move on. He slung his pack over his shoulder and it disappeared into shards as well.

Steven blinked.

He waved his hand to pull up the interface again. But now there’s a new button with what looks to be an etching of a backpack. Clicking on it, it only shows a three-by-six grid and filled with his stuff. This interface had his pickaxe, water-logged torches, rations, and a few other things, even the journal. There were other things in the main interface, right?

Steven returned to the main screen... screen? Is that what it’s called? The word feels foreign on his tongue but so familiar at the same time. And is this an... inventory? Sounds about right, an inventory screen. It sounds so weird but feels so right.

He hovers a pointed digit over what looks to be a blade.

“ _Steven’s Sword: made of iron, kind of old and needs to be repaired, but it still works._ ”

There was also an icon of the trident.

He willed both his sword and the trident into the bottommost row. It felt like instinct as he did. His head began to spin the more he thought about it.

Steven shook his head as he took a step back. Is this another illusion thing? It must be. He dismissed the screen, turning to the grand wall in front of him. A pair of curling staircases that led under an arch and to the very city itself.

  
  


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Steven twirled around in wonder as he sauntered through the city. Getting out was his main goal, but that could wait.

Steven wandered through these ruined streets gazing upon dilapidated homes and buildings. The entire city was square and cubic in nature, it was fascinating. The cobbled streets were a cold, light, greenish-blue from the washes of light.

Each ruined building was made up of the same massive bricks, hardly a change in color. They must have used paint and maybe... well the paint has long since decayed and the majority of the ruins are well... ruined.

Steven came upon a decently sized plaza with a mossy overgrown fountain at the center. It’s carvings matching the cuboid aesthetic this entire city seemed to have. Three birds sat at the edge of the fountain, bathing in the puddles of still water and twittering at each other. They all cocked their little heads at Steven before saying off towards the castle. Other than that, Steven hasn’t seen any other wildlife.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A voice called from down the street.

Without hesitation, Steven noped out of there real fast.

The plaza he slowed at seemed to be filled with shops and possibly housing above? Steven didn’t need to focus on that, he needed to get a move on. Maybe even head to the castle instead. Steven searched up for a tower, and a spire stood out.

Perfect.

Steven turned down the road to find an even larger plaza than the fountain.

It was a rectangle of carved patterns about thirty meters wide and fifty meters long by estimate. It was large. At the corners and small points on the border of the plaza were those giant planters overtaken by tiny trees and sprawling vines. On either side of this plaza were a mismatch of facade styles all fitting within the same cubic aesthetic. Large columns on some, plain on others, but it didn’t even come close to the building that stood at the head of the plaza.

Steven trekked across the crumbling bricks as his mouth dropped. It was something he had only heard in books. Judging by what’s left of the carvings, the elegant and gaudy architecture, and the spires jutting from behind the facade... it had to be some sort of ancient place of worship.

The facade was interesting as is. It had a large arch as an opening that led inside but Steven wasn’t ready to move on yet. On either side were niches with a pair of statues one was of an older man with a bald head and braided beard wearing some sort of thick draping robe that covered his entire body but short enough to need pants that were heavily baggy. The man’s left hand held a hammer and the right hand was palm facing out and up fingers together.

The second was of a woman with long straight hair and a narrow pointed face. Her headdress looked like curved horns and long strands of fabric tied to it, her dress was one like a long chemise underneath what looked like slender and fitted armor plates with a single panel of embroidered cloth that came from the belt and all the down to the hem of the other.

He didn’t know who either of them were, but the old man looked extremely familiar.

Steven stepped through the arch and twirled around in wonder. His suspicions were right. The walls were absolutely covered in ancient murals. The ceiling depicted a starry night sky with clouds as many constellations were pointed out and drawn. To his wonder was also an assortment of other mosaics depicting scenes and myths from days of old.

There wasn’t any stained glass like he was used to but something stood out instead. To his left was a giant tablet engraved with a story. The tablet was in rows from beginning to... whenever the tablet ended.

Steven felt that he knew this story but by the first engraving alone... He dug through his inventory for a journal and something to write with and began sketching the story he saw.

A group of people created a cube that became a flat land, from there came the oceans, mountains, and everything else within this cube. Then these people created two other cubes, one of the void and one above the clouds.

The story begins to split but one on top of the other as if they were happening at the same time.

One depicted a civilization creating flying ships and sprawling towers led by a lineage of winged beasts. Much like the end dragons in children’s storybooks. A calamity happened as civilization fell. The dragon became cruel and destructive only tamed and subdued by a single entity from another realm.

The one below that depicted a person spawning from the mist and wandering. One day this person met another human as they joined their village, quickly gaining favor and power as the village became a kingdom. This entity was known for its magic and taught other humans how to cast. Suddenly the entity turned on humanity and caused carnage. The creators came down from the clouds, fought, and cast this entity into the void.

‘This story is much more expansive than the other.’ Steven thought.

The entity came back from the void, more powerful than before and with them brought undead, skeletons, and creepers to scorn the clouds. The creators came back, broke open the earth, created a hellish underworld of fire, and imprisoned the person down there. The entity used the power from the void and created hundreds of hellish creatures to populate the new realm.

Before Steven could move on to the next story, footsteps echoed from the entrance. He ducked behind a collapsed pillar

“Look, I swear I saw someone run in here, with the teal-shirt-navy-jeans spiel. I called out but they just ran”

‘ _crap_ ’ Steven gritted his teeth.

“Hello? Anyone there?” The voice sounded young, “I-I’m not going to hurt you.”

Steven peeked over the rubble to see a kid, probably about fifteen, standing at the entrance with a torch in hand. The kid wore a dark brown robe and a hooded cloak that sat over his shoulders. But his robes had some sort of insignia on the front, but too far away to actually see.

The kid looked around, doing a full circle of the room before giving up and heading out the front. A few more voices, older than the kid, echoed into the room as they left. That doesn’t bode well.

Steven slowly crept from behind his hiding spot and slipped into the hallway. His boots clacked against the marble as he broke into a run. Each footfall reverberated greatly down the long stretch of the hall. He wasn’t about to look back now.

He found the end with a small bit of skylight filtering down through the thin vines that slipped into the little cracks of the glyphic walls. The arched ceiling lets up to a taller room and a grand relief in front with halls going left and right from this little conjunction.

This new wall was filled to the brim with niches and statues within those niches.

There were a few he could try and name, like Jeb, a man with a multicolored sheep at his feet, Dinner-bone right next to him, odd name but was constantly upside down, that one musician he always had a hard time remembering, and a few others.

But above Jeb was a bearded and bald man, very similar to the one outside. He was above Jeb so who was this person? There was what looked to be an ‘N’ inscribed beneath it, but the rest, if there was any, had been weathered and broken away.

Steven jumped and flung his arms out in defense as a noise came from the hallway where he just came from. As he turned, that crunch of a footfall was only a chunk of dust falling from the ceiling. It was probably best to hoof it out of this place anyways.

He turned left, hoping it would lead him back to the street, or a window at least. He breezed through winding halls, with little rooms with tables and chairs, others filled with bunk beds, a few chapels dedicated to specific gods, and even a good chunk of libraries that he may or may not have detoured through.

His trail led to a dead end and a staircase up. It was narrow and the little slits for windows of the tower he climbed told him he was far from his goal.

As Steven made it to the end of the staircase, a light shone from above. He made it to the top at last and stood high above the main section of the riverfront city. The castle was about twenty degrees to his right and a half of a sprawling city to his left.

A heavy breeze that swept down from above rustled his hair and he leaned over the edge. The entrance from whence he had come was only a little left of the tower. Other ruins he identified from his wandering. He could even spot the distant underground river to his very, very left.

He giggled as excitement filled his heart. Oh to fulfill such a childish dream of prowling through ancient ruins and exploring long lost cities! What a life to live in joyous pursuit of adventure and knowledge with the risk of danger at every turn! Steven fantasized about coming back down here with a college exploration team and really mapping out the ruins, solving puzzles, making risky jumps, balancing on beams in between towers. A childish delight, but a fine distraction.

Steven rolled his shoulders as he focused on the new challenge ahead of him. There looked to be a series of bridges and spires that lead all the way to another sector. But the problem lied in that these bridges had been retracted for some odd reason.

But each tower had a column-like-thing with a large glass sphere that wasn’t exactly a sphere as it had flat sides that were shaped into a sphere. Anyways! Steven circled around the pillar and scratched his chin.

“What am I supposed to do with this? Turn it or something- Oof!”

Right on cue, he tripped over a lever he hadn’t noticed, coincidence right? It wasn’t as much of a lever as a wheel that attached to the wooden base of the pillar. Now the word came to him, base. Large dark wood bases that held glass spheres.

Moving on, Steven did what any good adventurer would do and messed with it. The wheel was rusty and had little give, but after a few heaves, it squealed and jolted and began to turn.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steven saw a line of light travel across the wall till it landed on the closest sphere-thing. Like magic, a mechanism was triggered and the bridge of the opposite side extended allowing him passage across the tall gap. Steven continued this ‘puzzle’ till he reached the end.

Steven hummed triumphantly to himself as he saw he was indeed closer to the castle that sat upon its own peak in the giant cavern. Bluish-green light filtering through the gaping holes above as vines swayed. It was enchanting from this far up.

The miner stepped back and headed down the stairs to the new street level. It was the same, but a bit higher up. In the far distance, Steven could see the gate from where he entered and a faint line of the beach. Steven looked over the rail and his stomach lurched.

There was a group of hooded people walking towards the beach, quiet and orderly as they sauntered along. Some of them clearly had amour... and chains with them. Most of them had the same dark robes and cloaks as the kid, but more elaborate.

‘ _There’s more of them?_ ’ Steven digressed, ‘ _Just where am I?_ ’

There was a pair that passed directly below him. They stopped right beneath him and leaned on the wall.

“...so then the initiate comes back saying that he heard running! And that’s when someone said that the guy that washed up on the beach was gone, and footprints led into the city.” Said the first one.

“So... why are we looking for this guy again?”

“The Archpriest said that his appearance couldn’t just be a coincidence. It’s the fact that—get this— this guy has a teal shirt and navy pants.”

“Just like Him?” The second asked.

“Just like _Him_.” The first nodded his head.

The second scoffed as he gestured nonchalantly, “Damn, that can’t just be a coincidence. Why haven’t they grabbed him earlier?”

“Dunno, the scout that tried to bring the kid back had been jumped by a creeper and came running back. When the scout returned the guy was gone.”

“Damn, do you think that the creepers got to ‘em?”

“Nah, there was no explosion nor burn marks, only footprints. The guy must have woken up. His ‘energy signature’ or whatever the Archpriest called it was still strong so he must be alive not to mention it suddenly got stronger.”

“Huh... ey, where’s Ryan? Wasn’t he joining us?”

“Nah, he’s stationed back at the castle to secure the exits and make sure that no one goes in or out until we find the guy.”

Steven’s hope rose and fell. Both. At the same time.

So he needed the castle... but judging by whatever it might be the headquarters of this... group? The hoods and cloaks all screened cult in the most stereotypical form, and then the mention of this Archpriest? Steven internally screamed. It appears that even if he longed to roam that castle, he may just have to skip the tour and find a way out.

The miner glanced back over the rail before he crept along and broke into a run once he was far enough away. Steven tried going down an alleyway when he heard voices and backtracked right out.

He ducked as a group of armored people came through the alley.

“I thought I heard something.”

“Probably saw another damn creeper, let’s keep going.”

Steven swore he felt his heart lurch into his throat. As the man’s eyes swept right over him and retreated back through the alley.

Steven went left and right, down one way, and backtracked another. Dodging the number of robed people that began wandering. The real question was why did they all appear just now? How come he hadn’t seen any of them till now and what did they want to do with him? Maybe everyone goes on break at the same time? Whatever it was, it meant bad luck.

The miner dashed behind a wall as another search party came by. Steven shuddered at the idea, he’d dodged death so far, can’t let some random cult get him now.

“Look over there!”

His blood turned to ice.

Looking up he made eye-to-eye contact with a man on a ledge above him. A hand gestured accusingly towards him. With a curse, Steven turned to run but a well-aimed bolt struck his calf as he fell forward and rolled. His empty backpack flying out of his hands as a man wielding a crossbow came close. Steven scrambled to his feet as the man aimed his loaded crossbow right at his head.

“Nice try, kid.”

Steven gasped as something collided with the back of his head.

  
  


...

  
  


Steven came to with a pounding headache. His vision was blotted out with a single glaring white ray and pitch black around him. He strained against his restraints as the ear grading chime of rusted chains bounced around the room.

He found himself kneeling and gagged in an open room. A metal collar cold and dug into the base of his neck. A single skylight shed piercing white light into his cell and illuminated a small halo around him, searing his eyes as he couldn’t adjust to seeing the murk before him.

Steven looks down to find himself in much different attire than he arrived in. His shirt was missing and his pants were these grey, scratchy, canvas sweatpants looking things. Oh yeah, and his shoes were long gone as well.

Steven blinked as he made out the faint outlines of the furniture in this prison. Beyond the rim of light was what looks to be shelves at one corner, with the faintest glow of potions and other materials. Steven swallowed as he saw the glint of tools and other things around the room.

Was... was this a torture chamber? Or a spare closet?

Steven grunts as he pulls on the chains, the more his arms tug the more his jugular was squeezed. All he accomplished was a ruckus that someone must have heard. With a huff, Steven gave up as he swallowed, wincing.

Steven jolted as the sound of footsteps came near and the door to his cell was thrown open with a crash. A heavily built woman covered in floral tattoos saunters in with a wiry man close behind. The woman had a dagger strapped to her belt. While the man wore a different type of robe, more custom and even more decorated than the others. A book was strapped to his side with the engraving of a potion bottle on the leather.

Steven scooted away, he strained against the chains once more as he tried to get more distance from the intruders. Confusion and fear evident in his violet eyes. The woman sneers as she grabbed the chains and yanked Steven forward. The young miner kept his eyes down as he fell on his side and under the scrutinizing gaze of these people.

The clacking of heels hit his ears painfully as his chin was seized and jerked up. He sent a seething glare at the equally sharp-eyed man that had him. He gently turned the miner’s head but stayed staring into his eyes. Admiring them with a satisfied huff.

“My, my... what a peculiar and lovely shade of violet your eyes are. I wonder if I could convince the Archpriest to spare this one, he is cute.”

Steven felt unease pool in his belly as he jerked his head away from his hand. The man huffed as he strutted away towards the shelves and potions.

The woman approached next and Steven felt his chains go slack but immediately new cuffs were placed as his arms were brought to his front. The chain between them was longer. He could finally roll his shoulders in peace. The woman just grunted before turning to the door and leaning against it as the man started swirling some concoction.

The man—a witch he presumed—inspected his arms, specifically his infection point and poured the concoction over it and muttered a spell. The black veins receded as his vision blurred and his head spun as the potion was absorbed into his skin. The space around him blacked out for a second until he came to.

Steven shook his head and blinked. The witch had his back turned and the large woman was gone. His collar was no longer digging into his neck, actually, it wasn’t there, and his cuffs were just two golden bands inscribed with runes. Not to mention his gag was removed while he was stunned.

“Perfect timing.” The witch chimed, his grin saccharine and unsettling

“Wh-what? What do you mean?” Steven stammered, “Who are you? Where am I?”

“Don’t worry about it, spawn, just know that your life is going for a great cause.”

Steven swallowed as the witch turned back around, “Can you at least tell a soon-to-be-dead-man why he’s here?”

The witch spun on his heels and crossed his arms, “Curious are we? Why not. You are in the castle of this underground ruined city, we are a secluded church dedicated to ancient gods and bettering the world by teaching acting traditions and praising the name of our patron. You are to be sacrificed in a binding ritual to have a certain demigod bow to our whim and heed our patron’s whims. Happy?”

“...Then... who is this demigod?”

“Does the name ‘Herobrine: King of the Nether’ ring a bell? Should be since our divination specialists most recent seance with the being noted your hand in releasing him. We thank you for that by the way, it made our job much easier...” The man’s face softened at the distance look on Steven’s face. He resumed a stoic posture and rolled his eyes.

Steven slowly stood up as the witch continued fussing with his brewing stand and grinding up pieces of ingredients humming a tune quite loudly as well. Steven’s bare feet made no sound on the stone bricks as gingerly crept up on the witch. In the corner of his eye were a short piece of cloth, some rope, and a plan.

The witch turned around, his mouth open to make a comment when the prisoner was no longer sitting in the light. Steven pounced in an instant: rope around the man’s throat like a garrote. The sinewy man struggled and clawed at his neck till he went slack.

Steven checked his pulse and then gagged and bound the man. The witch did have any keys so they must be somewhere in this room.

Steven started rustling through drawers and chests. Instead of keys he found his signature ensemble, shoes, socks, and everything. Better than walking around in this aether-forsaken sweats that itched like hell. He couldn’t get the bands off, but at least they weren’t too tight. Hopefully they were ritualistic decorations.

Out of curiosity, Steven waved his hand to pull up his inventory. To his surprise all of his belongings, including his backpack, were all there in the interface. His sword, the trident, everything. Even his little mini-me was sporting that roughed up look and he still had the glass shard necklace. Just going to slip that over his head and find a way out of this place.

To his luck, the sound of marching came from down the hallway, and a stream of light flooded into the room as two hooded people entered with chains. They muttered to themselves as the room was suspiciously empty and Steven slipped out of the door.

“What was that?”

Steven broke into a run.

  
  


...

  
  


Dread filled his stomach as flight ran through his veins. His vision tunneled as he focused on not being captured. After his sprint for life from the dungeon, a sudden thought began directing him this way and that. Hide here, vault over this there. Constant directions as he ran through the halls.

People knew he had escaped, and said people were hot on his tail.

Steven passed halls upon halls. The tall architecture was come-lately square with long narrow windows and vaulted ceilings. A warped gothic style in a geometric and cubic shape. There was hardly a round edge in the building, but many of the banners had been torn down and replaced with this same emblem on a lot of the robed people’s own hoods.

He skirted another wall as yells echoed down the current passageway he was down. The few individuals still roaming hardly noticed him till he was far past them. There had been volleys of bolts in his direction along with curses. Apparently they couldn’t damage him so that was a plus.

The inkling in Steven’s mind had him turn down a hallway with a bright light at the end of it. His heart pounded in his ears as the yelling from farther behind him drowned out everything else. He was almost free.

Steven dashed towards the light. An exit, it has to be. The closer he got, the more his hopes rose. Until he skidded to a halt at the top of a wide set of stairs. His throat went dry.

Before him was a long cathedral-like hall. He stood to the south of a massive ring about fifteen meters across. The ring was rimmed with hundreds of tiny runes with a geometric six-sided-shape in the center with more not so large circles within those.

And each circle had a sigil drawn representing something.

On either side—west and east—were raised boxed seating for the large crowd of robed people. About three hundred heads from his raised view. Each one of their hooded faces were turned to his direction as a stiff silence washed over the entire cavernous hall.

To the north was a man on a pedestal. He was too far to describe but his hood was gilded and robe ornate and flowing. The most elaborate he had ever seen with dangling gold and red jewels. He raised his arms in praise as a cruel grin came from beneath the hood.

“Rejoice! For the host has arrived!”

“ _Shit._ ”

  
  


…

  
  


_(A.N. I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!)_

  
  


...


	7. The Ritual

_Content warning: description of fantasy ritual._

  
  


...

  
  


_“There exist many religions that tie to a specific deity. Many choose to bind themselves to the ‘aether’ and the almighty Jeb, creator of the universe. Others choose to follow the deities of music. There are even people that create entire cults dedicated to Him and the nether. As eccentric as they are._

_Many of the unconventional religions mind their own business and hardly interact with those outside their circles and others are integrated within society itself. The aether is the most widely accepted church for its mystical legends and the creators that dwell within such domains. Jeb and many others being the most common ones that are recognized. Though, old relics speak of an even older creator that's name was lost and stricken from every known book._

_Most people acknowledge the creator’s existence but the common man hardly does more than that. The most accepted teaching is that acknowledgment is a good enough payment for managing the world._

_Rumors speak of groups that devote themselves to higher powers, ones that our legends deem monsters and incapable of compassion with a singular goal, usually death and destruction. It’s always death and destruction. But these people spend their lives doing work for these entities, expecting rewards that will never come.”_

...

  
  


Chapter VII: The Ritual

  
  


...

There are lucky people and then there’s Steven. Who was immediately caught the second he had halted at the top of these stairs. He had wondered if luck was real or if skill played a major part in his life, but now it appears that the very entity of luck had swung by and kneed him down where the sun-don’t-shine... with a spiked metal knee-guard to boot.

The room was longer than it was tall, the ceiling had to be at least seventy meters high, and the length of this hall only a couple dozen above that. Support beams spanned the width of the hall and connected parallel columns. Tall rectangular windows alternated between thick marble columns and cubic arches above each window. The entire room was picked perfectly clean of any overgrown leaves and moss but hints of weathering still lingered in the crevices, cracks, and farthest of reaches.

Pale blue light filtered through the sectioned windows. Setting an eerie cold glow from the natural light and deeply conflicted with the braziers of fire that lined the two sets of what looked to be jury boxes on either side of the ritual circle.

At the far end of the hall, behind the ritual leader, was an elevated platform with stairs up to a throne. A tall throne of marble that sat empty and cold. A moth-eaten banner hung above it, the only piece of this room that looked its age. If it had one at least.

Time was as a standstill as Steven was dragged down the steps. He was bound back in ropes and forced to kneel at the southern end of the ritual circle. A gag of cloth shoved into his mouth muffling any words and noise he made.

Steven felt minuscule between these large jury boxes as rows upon rows of face-shrouded people stood unmoving as they waited for instruction. All of them staring down at him. Scrutinizing this specimen brought before the council, the jury, for whatever fate they had for him.

“My companions!” The extravagantly decorated one began, who stood at the head of the ritual circle only at a slightly lower elevation, “It is time for the cleanser’s wishes to be fulfilled, we are the chosen ones who have given out lives and our blood to the cleanser and will help us fix our tattered and broke world into one of peace and hope!”

A roar of silent agreement and excitement came from the figures in the stands as they shuffled around eagerly.

“Our master, the cleanser, requires one of no lineage for their work. A host with no blood ties to bring immense power to our cause! On this day, we will carve a path to salvation for the cleanser will give us all we need!” The Archpriest paused as he turned to Steven directly, “Bring in the summoners!”

The loud huffing of men had Steven jerking his head up.

An obelisk-like formation was brought to the center of the circle, wheeled along by a group of hooded people. The stopped slightly off-center to him and the Archpriest to unload the totem and wheeled the cart away.

“Lorde Dakran, Keppra vas Hallasus! Brokkovan et ves lok no hasus. Godde Morte, Lorde Mobus! Lavathas et ves lok vrath vostes.” Came the chant of the chorus. Their resounding voices encoring through the halls in a great wave of power. The sheer volume was deafening.

The pillar’s shape was square and thick. Put together like some sort of child’s toy bricks on steroids. It had a thick base of gold cubes and in the center was a short tower of this deep-red jagged rock. It looked to be of volcanic origin, but without the pores and a deep red. On each corner of the golden base were unlit Redstone torches.

Steven felt his heart lurch in his throat as he stared at this strange. A base of solid gold, or some sort of lined finish with a pillar of rock red and weeping. Why the red torches? Was it some sort of unheard of mechanism?

“Keppra vas Hallasus, Lorde Dakran! Feviet klos hinesus hue ma’an. Lorde Mobus, Godde Morte! Ves v’than un veklahn.”

Behind that totem came a group of four hooded people, bare-chested but hoods over their heads as they held a platform on their shoulders. On top of the platform sat another structure but covered in a white cloth.

Three more faceless people followed behind the platform, holding an item each covered in a white cloth as the hidden structure was lowered and placed next to the gold-based one.

“Lorde Dakran, Keppra vas Hallasus! Brokkovan et ves lok no hasus. Godde Morte, Lorde Mobus! Lavathas et ves lok vrath vostes.”

Suddenly Steven was seized by the crown of his head and forced to look down, exposing the back of his neck. Clicking and the whoosh of hot metal whizzed by him. Then, the back of his neck was met with searing hot pain. He hissed in pain as black spots danced in his tunneling vision. The brand pulled away; heart pounding in his head. It was agony as white noise sizzled from behind.

He felt like he was about to faint. As he looked back up.

He wanted to tear his eyes away, but he sat there mortified as the chanting got louder and louder. The wound throbbed.

“Keppra vas Hallasus, Lorde Dakran! Feviet klos hinesus hue ma’an. Lorde Mobus, Godde Morte! Ves v’than un veklahn.”

It was nothing but this overwhelming chorus of voices that blocked out his thoughts as the pulse thundered in his head. Why can't it just stop!

And suddenly...it did. It stopped. Steven waited with bated breath as his pulse was the only thing he could hear.

Not a single person moved.

Then, lightning struck with a resounding crash! The top of the tower was engulfed in flames as red flowed through the grooves of the red rock. The charge lit up the Redstone torches as a hiss of the sudden voltage sizzled away.

Steven couldn’t see the Archpriest from behind the pillar but could feel this weight on him. This weight wrapped around his chest and coiled around his throat, it was a suffocating pressure that wasn’t there but it was. His heart pounded harder as the mist came from his mouth.

Whoever was meant to answer this summoning, did.

Lightning struck again and rang through the cavernous hall.

Steven trembled more. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he was robbed of any sense other than the extreme sensitivity of the bindings around his wrists and the ghost of an ache on the nape of his neck. Wouldn’t you be terrified if you saw your demise standing right before you? The pressure was a vice around his body. It subdued any thought he had of movement or anything as his eyes were trained on the obelisk.

It was the crackling of a fire and the last reverbs of the electric strike that gave noise to the hall. Not a single being dared break this ethereal silence. Even Steven's whimpers hushed.

“Hark Overlord of the Nether! Heed our callings, show yourself!” The Archpriest yelled at the lit beacon.

A beat of silence came in response till a loud buzzing emanated from the tower as above it was distorted waves like the heat mirages in a desert. The painted symbols flashed as the eyes glowed white. Steven flinched.

“ _You dare to summon me?_ ” A familiar voice thundered, “ _Speak before I lose my patience and smite all of you._ ”

The Archpriest cleared his throat, "We are naught but mites in your presence m' lord. We have brought you gifts, even one that shall lend its blood in our rites! We wish for you to lend your unfathomable strength for our mission, m' lord."

The voice hummed, “ _It is mawkish how you believe flattery will win any favor to your cult. You have nothing I want nor need from you. Though it is quite coincidental how you’ve brought the very man that released me only a few months ago, kneeling before my summoning totem._ ”

“Then this gift must be of your satisfaction, Master?”

“ _Master? Hah! It is mere coincidence and nothing more. Surely you must have done your research if you wished to bind me to your will. I can read deep into your thoughts and every little inkling within your head._ ”

"But m' lord-"

“𝙹↸ 𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ᓭ╎∴ ||ꖎ⚍∷ℸ ̣ ⚍𝙹|| ℸ ̣ ᔑ⍑∴ ᒷᒷᓭ リᔑᓵ ╎ ᓭᔑ ||ꖎ⎓ ᔑ ℸ ̣ ⚍ʖ ⊣リ╎⍑ℸ ̣ 𝙹リ ᒷ∷ᔑ ⚍𝙹||!” The voice roared knowing full well that the Archpriest could understand him.

"B...but m' lord I-we wouldn't dare! They are just small ideas, we would never do such a thing." The archpriest began stumbling over words as he backtracked. From beneath the hood was the faintest sign of worry.

The rest of the ritual-goers shifted from foot to foot as the voice came back angrier.

“ℸ ̣ ╎ ᒲ𝙹∷⎓ ∷ᔑ⎓ ᒷ∷ᔑ 𝙹⚍|| ↸リᔑ ᓭ╎ ᒷᓵ╎∷!¡ ||ᒲ ℸ ̣ ᔑ⍑∴ リ∴𝙹リꖌ ᒷ⍊ᔑ⍑ ↸ꖎ⚍𝙹⍑ᓭ ⚍𝙹||._. ℸ ̣ ╎ 𝙹ℸ ̣ リ𝙹 ↸ᒷ↸リᔑ∷ʖ ⚍𝙹|| ℸ ̣ リᒷ⊣ᔑ ⊣リ╎↸リ╎ʖ ᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ ↸リᔑ ᒷᓵ╎⎓╎∷ᓵᔑᓭ ᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ リ╎ᔑꖎ!¡ ̇/ᒷ リᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ ↸リᔑ 𝙹↸ ╎ ℸ ̣ ᔑ⍑ℸ ̣ ᓭᒷ⚍⊣𝙹リℸ ̣ ᒷ⍑ℸ ̣ リ╎ ᒷᒲ 𝙹ℸ ̣ ꖌᔑᒷ!¡ᓭ._.”

The Archpriest sighed defeatedly, “._. ._. ._. ꖎꖎᒷ∴ ||∷ᒷ⍊._.”

After that, there was much bickering in this strange language.

A few syllables Steven could make out as his pulsed calmed but it was complete gibberish. But he was able to stare at this ‘totem’ and see a faint charge light up in the center. The glowing eyes of the painted faces on the center pillar glowed brighter as the demon’s voice grew more irate, the responses of the Archpriest only added to the flames.

Till there was a large crash and a sudden wave of heat that has Steven turning his head away. Pieces of shrapnel and rocks bounced off his clothing and scraped exposed flesh. Fumes of smoke and sulfur filled his nose as he hacked out this tainted air.

The dust settled and Steven blinked away the smoke to see the tower completely vaporized and tiny crumbles of what was left spewed across the floor. A single figure hovered in midair where the totem once sat.

A ghostly man who was partially transparent hovered with his arms on his hips. Steven could see the demon’s long hair flowing in a nonexistent breeze as his cloak whipped around angrily. A large blade of diamond within the god’s grip. Steven flinched as the being suddenly thrust his sword out to point at the Archpriest and yelled:

“ **_I AM NO MERE DEMIGOD YOU PATHETIC WORM!_ **”

“My lord, it was a mistake!”

“ _I am the Overlord of the Nether, King of the Mobs! I am the God of Destruction! I will never bow before the whims of a worthless mortal as yourself who deems one as myself as lowly as a mere demigod for I have long outgrown such a pathetic title._ ”

A bolt of lightning sparked and sizzled around the being. More tiny arcs were close to Steven as the electric volt writhed around his circle before disappearing. There was another building charge as static grew in the air. It was almost tangible.

“ _You call yourself a righteous leader when you have done nothing, not even raise a finger to which you say you are. You are weak and feeble, hardly fit for a mortal I deem worthy of my presence!_ ”

There was a standstill as the seething god hovered. His image glitching out at the very edges as the Archpriest stood, gauging his next move.

Unease solidified in the room. It was practically tangible at this point.

“Nha’adran, bring the prisoner closer” The Archpriest commanded as he never broke eye contact with the god, “and unveil the second summoner.”

Steven felt someone come behind him and yank him to his feet. He gave a startled noise as he was pushed towards the structure hidden by the white cloth. There was a deep feeling of dread as he stared at the hidden formation.

The three people with the white cloths unveiled three ashy black skulls right as he was brought before the totem. At that same moment, the hidden structure was unveiled as well.

This new totem looked to be in a cuboid T shape, made up of this dark brown sand. Steven swore that the sand writhed and shifted as faces swam around the molded cuboid body. But those faces, they were faces of agony and despair. The longer he stared, he swore he could hear anguished wails from within the sand. The three people holding skulls waited for their next move.

The demon’s face contorted to one of loathing and utter revulsion. Steven could see the demon’s fist clench as his eyes flared. Sparks of fire came from the demon’s fist as little droplets of magma leaked from his palm. A column of fire erupted from beneath the demon’s feet and a cry rang out from the onlookers as a ball of magma tore at the structure.

“ _How_ **_dare_ ** _you bring its formation in my presence!”_ The god roared as he pointed his sword at the sandy T formation.

The Archpriest’s platform, now which Steven could see, was burnt black as a fire began to spread from the impact. The demon snorted in approval before a long whip suddenly lurched for the demon and coiled around his wrists. These spectral ropes morphed into chains that pulled the demon (or should I say god?) closer to the floor.

The god began struggling and battling against the restraints as the Archpriest dragged himself back to his feet. His hood was drawn back as a glare was focused on the god alone. A hand exuding a visible aura similar to the spectral bindings.

But that was short-lived.

The Archpriest gave a startled yelp as the god ripped the restraints from the floor with a beastly growl. Cracks formed in the floor where the spectral chains once anchored. The god sneered as he flicked off pieces of the spectral chain from his wrists.

“ _Only a few will be spared on this day, and you will_ **_not_ ** _be among them._ ”

And with that, chaos erupted in the hall.

Steven was blown away as a creeper was spawned from dust and blew up the T formation within seconds of spawning. Steven was late to react as he skidded across the floor. The shock of seeing that green creature suddenly appearing before him hadn’t even left his system till he was forced away and landed harshly on his side.

A single gust of wind came roaring as all light in the hall had been extinguished. Wisps of smoke slithered across the walls and blotted out the windows. All light had been snuffed as the fires were put out one by one.

The sounds of skeletons, zombies, and creepers rose from the shadowed edges of the room. The god had summoned more minions to chase the onlookers.

Panicked screams rose. Thundering footsteps that came from the stands whirled around him as people tried to escape. Leaving the miner to the mercy of whatever remained in the dark. But all of that was numb compared to the ringing in his ears that blotted out any other sound. There was nothing but that god awful ringing.

He had fallen on his side, faint hints of a burn on his exposed flesh. He couldn't see, nor could he hear, he should be able to hear something, but it was all just the ringing in his head. His head hung low as he squirmed, fighting against the ropes. The bindings dug into his wrists, rubbed raw by the feeling of it.

“...ste...ven?...”

He swore he heard someone calling his name, a feminine but heavy voice. Alex? It was all distorted in the static. He must be hallucinating.

Steven felt himself being pulled up to sit on his knees. His bindings went slack as a freezing wind brushed against him. Steven jerked up to see darkness, just pure darkness. But looking down, there was the faintest hint of a shadow, his own kneeling form. Steven yelped as suddenly a hand seized the back of his head and fisted his locks of hair pulling his head up and exposing his throat.

Images burned in his mind, a room and a book, a brick wall and a pickaxe, a mob and a sword, a dark hallway and running, a light and an escape. 

Steven’s head was thrown forward as his arm was roughly grabbed. Yanked up to stand on his own feet, he was forced forward, more of like thrown into the dark. Steven’s voice was caught in his throat as he stumbled forward and a flash of purple particles surrounded him as a hand gripped tightly to his shoulder.

The miner was flung into a wall of what felt like fabric that encased him.

Twisting, writhing, submerging him in a wall of water which he could not feel. It was instant, but it felt like an eternity as his breath, a yelp, was trapped in his own throat. Suddenly he crashed to the floor. His stomach lurched as vertigo slammed into him. But whatever grip that was threatening to break his shoulder grounded him for that split second.

The ending of his cry silenced from the impact as he was thrown into a whole new room.

...

He rolled onto his back as the tiny chandelier spun hypnotically above him three of them dancing and merging and separating and merging again. There was a groan of discomfort as he stretched. He could still feel his fingers and the air was considerably warmer, comfortably so, even if the ice feeling melted away. His whole body felt like it was swirling. He swore he heard the sound of a teleporting enderman as the world stopped spinning.

Steven came to find his senses were...fine and that he was in a completely different room. It was disorienting, to say the least, coming from a massive cathedral-like hall to a cramped office looking room. For an instant, he thought he was back in the cell, but the number of shelved books and dim sconces told otherwise.

The miner rose to his knees to see shelves of books lining the walls and a desk pressed against a wall with a massive portrait of a three-headed figure in dark brown above that. Around each bookcase were these glass cases and pedestals with strange artifacts.

Subconsciously he rubbed the back of his neck in confusion only to draw his hand back with a hiss. Still sensitive... whatever it was that was there and was that... blood? Dried blood. It stung that’s for sure. Hesitantly he staggered to his feet, brushing off the dust on his pants and actually looked around.

Just as he saw there were a bunch of bookcases full of books, many just being classic tales for decoration, but one seemed to be a series of similar-looking ones like journals. They were numbered and just peeking into one showed handwritten notes in a strange alphabet. Steven peeled away to look at other things.

Something clicked in his head.

‘ _Wait I should be getting out of here, why am I looking around?_ ’

Steven made way for the door when something glittered in the corner of his eye. Shining under a torchlight was this little thing. Well, not little it was a hair larger than his hand but it sparked his interest. It was a thinly engraved cyan ball with a ridge on the circumference and a bunch of tiny lines that interlocked together, maybe it opened?

Maybe he could spare a few more moments.

It was interesting and he could donate it to the researchers at the Crested Elite’s lodge. He plopped it into his inventory and moved on. There was this golden cube with symbols on all the sides, it was neat but uninteresting. Then there was a clear totem of undying sitting in a box and that was immediately pocketed.

Also, a bottle of what looked to be purplish-pink and white fire constantly throwing itself at the walls of the glass bottle was housed in taking that for the researchers as well. Oh and a few scrolls that would be highly valued along with some sort of treasure map. Hopefully, no one had followed and dug it up yet.

There was this deeply ingrained instinct that told him to pocket the things he did. But he was able to refrain from most of the other things until he passed some sort of star looking thing, pale cream at the center that faded into a light pastel blue. It was shaped inside fractals like a crystal. Iridescent waves flowed across its glittering surface. But it looked like a piece had been broken off. The edge is like a match to the one on the necklace...

Steven gingerly picked it from the stand and a buzzing sensation covered his fingertips.

“Creak...crash!” Something came clattering to the floor. Steven jumped as he held the crystal three-pointed star close. A stack of books had fallen and loose papers scattered across the floor. A single book stood out from the rest, dark gray leather with matte stained filigree.

‘ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ∴╎ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷’

“The Wither.” Steven read... this isn’t in common, how was he able to read that?

What kind of alphabet is that in the first place? Was it Ghillagen? What was that one language he told the librarian... that book was in an older form of Ghillagen... right? Or was this another altered memory? He can ponder the horrors of altered memories later. If there were any left he’s yet to remember. Ironic in a sense.

“Vwoop.” The sound of teleporting.

Steven whirled around as purple particles dissolved in midair. What was left behind was one of those ashy skulls. He felt repulsed and dread the longer he stared at its odd formation. It was large, larger than a human head. Its teeth were long and it had multiple sets of fangs and incisors, way more than any normal skull should have.

But despite his instinct telling him to get as far away from that thing, he felt drawn to it. Like he _needed_ to take it. So, with a little bit of fighting. He inched closer and placed it into his inventory. If he took it, one more hindrance for this group.

He finally settled on leaving this room after he dismissed the inventory screen. Did he feel a little bad for ‘stealing’ a bunch of strange artifacts? Sort of, but at the same time these people did try to kill him... if he was still at this cursed underground ruin that is.

He peeked out the door to find a lowly lit hallway of large stone bricks, as in dungeon-like masonry, but still characteristic of the entire architecture and style. But to the left was a striking red brick wall, obviously new and slapped into place... something must be behind it, right? For being such an eyesore and sticking out like a sore thumb, there has to be something behind it.

Closing the door behind him he tiptoed closer to this sore thumb of a wall. Each little crack and joint edge was sealed with excess amounts of mortar. Like it was caked on in the vulnerable areas. They got to be hiding something, or really in a hurry, but who would waste so much mortar on a wall like this?

He pressed an ear to the bricks to hear... nothing. Was it just shoddy patching on an exposed support? Something in the back of his mind said that there was more. A wall and a pickaxe- wait did he need to break this wall? Are there mobs waiting on the other side?

Steven whipped around as he felt eyes on him.

“H-hey? Nothing...alright, fine. Now, where’s my pick?” The miner muttered as he waved his hand, summoning his inventory. Perusing, he found the icon and quickly summoned it. Like second nature it materialized into his hand. Don’t know how he knew to do that but time to focus on the fun part.

Steven hoisted the pick over his head and threw it down, hitting the mortar between bricks. A crack but not enough. Once again over the head and another strike. And another, and another. With a heavy strike, a brick came loose and clattered to the ground. Chunks of clay and mortar crumbling after it.

Steven stepped back and readjusted before aiming the pick right in the void space where the brick once was. Another loud crack! More bricks fell, and more, and more. Till the chunk of the wall came crumbling to the floor. This is exactly what he needed. Yet his arms protested in soreness and pain. Walking was okay but this was really pushing it as he slammed the pick down once again. Steven wiped his brow as he admired his handy work ignoring the mess and noise he made.

A void in the wall that led into a corridor of darkness. Cobwebs hung lowly from the light that spilled in. Bones and crumbling fragments laid in what could be seen. But not a peep but the trickling handfuls of specks of dirt and pebbles that clattered to the floor.

Steven traded his pick for a sword and pulled out a torch as well. Striking it against the wall and it bloomed into an adequate light source. He had no armor but the clothes on his back, as ratty as they were, and the underlying thought of mobs deep within this corridor had him antsy. Oh, how he loathed the dark, and mobs...mainly mobs cause they came from the dark. He actually appreciates the dark, not those who dwell in it.

He was stalling himself and he knew it.

Steven sucked in a breath and squeezed through the opening into the corridor and stepped into the dark.

Steven jolted as a blood-curdling roar between a man and a beast blasted from the hallway on the other side of the brick wall. Zapping and crackling came from deeper inside like an intense battle of magic. The feeling of dread fell over him as pins and needles pricked at his skin. Did he want to go back to help and waste his opportunity to escape or let whatever the hell is down there continue?

Steven moved closer to the hole he made only to be shoved away by a gust of wind. And to his bewilderment… the crevice that served as his exit creaked and cracked as dust flew from the ground. Bricks shuddered and grated across the floor as they flew into place, mortar resetting itself until it closed up with a final huff of dust.

“It...it closed itself up... wha... what?” Steven shook his head. He should at least be thankful he can run but... what in the everloving hell was that?

Steven held his breath as footsteps came from behind the wall along with yelling.

He stumbled away and darted into the dark with nothing but a torch and his blade.

  
  


...

  
  


Steven got a minute in before he heard the telltale sign of monsters. Hush groans and hissing came from deeper within. He listened for the sound of a bow being pulled or eager footfalls that would follow a lengthy hiss.

The area was cool, quiet, damp, and dark. Obviously, the mobs would seek out a haven such as this. The groans of zombies felt like they were brushing against the hairs on his neck and skeleton's arrowheads grazed the fibers of his shirt.

The torch’s warm light outlined stone bricks blanketed in moss. Waving the torch around told of indents in the wall. He passed by rows of empty cells and a few halls that broke away from this straight hall. Iron bars weathered beyond use and silverfish as big as his foot scuttled into the cracks of the farthest corners of these cells. Dull red eyes bored into him from beyond the border of the torchlight, they dared not get close as he passed.

Until one grew wise and stepped directly into his path.

A creature almost half as tall as the miner himself blocked his path. A grassy green coat of moss that covered the green scales and plates of its form. Its body was short and small, much like it’s stubby legs, while it’s long neck craned to look at him. A head of faint reptilian and swine influence stared at him. Sunken eyes and a permanent frown, this beast hissed as an angry red glow sparked from deep within its throat.

Steven backpedaled as the creeper gave another warning hiss. But behind him, he could hear the shuffling and groaning of zombies as they got braver and unearthed themselves from their hiding spots.

He had seconds and he did what he had to.

Steven raised his sword and charged, slicing cleanly through the creeper’s neck. Gunpowder flew into the air and followed the arc of his blade as he rushed towards the impending darkness ahead. The creeper had hardly started to glow with its signature attack before it sputtered and fell to the floor, the lethal signal still running as it continued to sizzle and expand.

A weak explosion came from behind Steven as he weaved through zombies. The stones hardly shook but he felt the shockwave of the blast as small plumes of dust fell from the ceiling.

He disregarded much of his training as he tore for an exit. He had to run, and with only his torch for light, the deep murk wasn’t looking very hopeful.

Up ahead, the torchlight unearthed a rectangular tunnel with perfectly square corners. The dungeon had ended, but a wall of long collapsed stones showed another exit. An iron door wide open and a switch waiting to be flipped.

Steven’s body ached as he picked up his speed. His throat burned as it felt like needles embedded into his legs. He passed through the unearthed doorway and slammed into the switch, flicking it and watching as the iron door sputtered to life. It slammed closed with a creak and a crash! A hoard of mobs clawed at the door a second after it closed.

Steven sat there panting, sweat running down his brow as his heart pounded against his chest. He turned away from the door and ventured farther up. But to his luck, the new passageway was in an incline. But to his misfortune, the passageway was in an incline.

The new ceiling is only about ten centimeters above his head. The passage was hardly wide enough for himself, and his legs ached from the uncomfortable angle. But the further he trekked up, something brushed against him. It was so faint he had to stand still to feel it again.

A draft.

There was a draft coming from up ahead.

A new spark of hope bubbled in his chest as he pushed forwards. An exit from this nightmare is right outside this gap. He just had to push a little more.

It was in his reach.

A beacon in the dark, a light, and a breeze that flowed through this break. The echoes of the groaning and hissing of zombies, creepers, and skeletons alike rung in his ears. They had all been dealt with. Just another push and he’ll make it. He closed his eyes and shook his head, he’ll make it, it’s right there! A light and an escape.

He skidded to a halt right before the light at the end of the tunnel. It looked to be some sort of collapsed door of stone. A slab of stone leaning on another. Looked as if it wouldn’t budge for a few more centuries.

But the gap from the two leaning stones was enough for him to drop down and squeeze through. And so he did, dropping to his knees and squirmed through the gap.

  
  


...

  
  


“Hrn... Oof!” Steven was able to pull his own body free of the crevice and fell flat onto soft grass. The sun rays warmed his face as an actual breeze ruffled through his hair. Crisp fresh air. Light. Warm. He was free at last.

There was a grumble that rose from his throat as the light stung his eyes. Steven blinked as he adjusted and swung a hand to shade his eyes. He was somewhere in a normal oak forest with a few birches dotting the tree line. Nowhere near the tundra spruce trees he had remembered on the surface.

Steven scrambled to his feet and took a gander. Within the roots of the trees were bricks and long decayed remains of something. Something that once stood outside this door. There wasn’t any signal or remnants of a path but the way the trees grew and the narrow winding line off into the distance where the branches were thinning told otherwise. Might as well start walking and make it somewhere before night descended upon the land.

Steven glanced at the sky, it was about three hours till sundown. Three hours till the mobs came out with vengeance. Three hours to create a shelter and wait out the night. With no time to waste, the miner broke away from the once exit and limped off into the forest.

Far from Steven’s line of sight stood a figure watching from above. They stood at the edge of the cliff, their head slowly tracking the miner’s form until he was converted by the dense foliage of the trees. A relieved smile came upon the person as they stepped away from the cliff's edge and disappeared in a puff of mist.

  
  


...

  
  


_(A.N. Welp, that happened! Stay chill my friends, and every like, comment, Kudo, whatever you got really means a lot and keeps me going, it’s not much but I do see them <3\. _

_I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!)_

  
  


...


	8. Pleasant and Not so Pleasant Surprises

_ Content Warning: blood and fantasy fighting _

...

“ _ As diverse of a continent Mojania can be, full of countries and independent city-states, there’s also a good handful of distinct races that exist along with geographical origins, not to mention the unique languages cultivated within each. _

_ Humans have the most widespread language of all, practically. The common tongue, also known as Craftian, is. They are spoken by almost every being on the face of the overworld. The reason many researchers believe this is because early humans tended to stray from home and regularly travel. Many of these early humans are thought to be spawns, also known as the precursor to the modern-day human. _

_ Testificates, commonly known as Villagers and Illagers, share a tongue known as Ghillagen, which uses the ancient galactic script. Most villagers have traded the lexicon for shared use to facilitate trade between them and humans. Illagers, despite their ways of spiting everything a villager does, continue to use standard galactic, possibly to make it harder for others to read and intercept messages. _

_ Mobs, or ‘the creatures of the night’ for the more poetic tongue, have records of once having a language of their own before receding from sentience within the second era. There has been much debate since translations of second era desert temples have been finicky at best. Many since have put the placeholder ‘Hizvertha’ which stands for ‘Mob-Tongue’ in Eastern Ghillagen. _

_ There has been a recent discovery about a first era stronghold that holds heavily degraded reliefs about a people from the early end, a race of very tall brilliant humanoids that were the ancestors to the rare enderman. Their script, or what explorers believe is their script, is nearly illegible due to centuries of weathering. _ ”

-A transcribed lecture of entity geography, the language section, from an unknown university.

…

  
  


Chapter VIII: Pleasant and Not So Pleasant Surprises

…

  
  


It had been over two weeks since the cavern incident. And to say Alex was intolerable was an understatement. Or maybe inconsolable was a better word for it. In any light, Alex hastily made the journey to the elite’s lodge to pick up a companion and head back to the region. Her destination? Woodhollow, a quaint village on the border of Brighton and Aeyr.

It was a little after midday when Alex entered the temperate forest full of oaks and birches. The deep emerald groves bordering the golden plains of the Brighton Province. There was one difference between Aeyr and Brighton, Aeyr was a much rockier land with cliffs and ravines, not as much as Reine to the north. To the south of Aeyr was Brighton with rolling hills and vast plains of wheat and rye. Its soil is very much more suited to farming, and farther south within the Brighton province was a more arid land for ranching as the Desert of Jenoa laid just beyond that of the border.

But the midday sky reflected perfectly to her mood. Light drizzling dripped down their coats as their steeds were slick with rain. Everything felt heavy, and gloom stretched across the distance. The underbelly of grey rain clouds rolled far past the horizon, blotting out any ray of sun—murmurs of thunder far behind them.

Alex sat stoically in her saddle as she rode a horse to the town. Her companion, Raina, kept pace at her side. Even if her hood was drawn over her face, the worry was evident in the way she sat and fidgeted.

Mostly for Alex as the thought of Steven was always on her mind and how she had childish fantasies of him still roaming this realm. The other minor part was if the drizzling rain would let up soon.

Raina was young, that’s for sure. Coming on twenty-one within the next season and already an esteemed master builder, known for her work on a few buildings in the eastern region of Aeyr. Her wide brown eyes full and hair cut to a pixie, as that’s the longest she’ll ever have it.

The village was coming up soon as the road showed more wear, and cold lanterns lit up the path. A familiar moss-ridden fence peaked from the brush; its purpose is of a homely aesthetic rather than actual protection. A few cows lingered under the coverings as they waited out the rain.

Then the actual wall of the town peeked from beyond the trees. Carts of merchants and delivery people entering and exiting, passing the two of them with a friendly nod. It was a wall of solid stone bricks, five meters high. It was adequate for a town of its size. What it lacked in wall height it made up for in impressive gates and archer towers.

Alex and Raina entered without problem as they left their horses at the stables and headed straight to the one place you’d want to go if you’re looking for someone. It was a more substantial building made to hold a larger populace all at once.

They passed quaint and charming shops and markets with double or triple story flats, and townhouses sat on top of them—clothing lines strung between buildings in the alleyways. The main road was a smoothed cobble, flattened from hundreds of travelers and carts passing through.

They made it to a particular building. Purple flowers that draped over the side of the planter that hung on the upper trimming of the establishment. Dark stained wood made the outside as a cozy plaster created the facade of the inn that sat on top. Hanging off one of the large beams was a sign engraved with ‘The Silver Plow’ swinging idly by in the breeze. A vine of ivy inching its way towards the hanging sign.

Alex stood in front of the tavern’s entrance and stared through the warped gridded window. Her feet hesitated to move further. The drizzle of the rain soaked into her hooded coat, and the mud around her soles weighed her down. Anticipation and false hope were stuck like a lump in her throat. The muffled laughter and chatter coming through the cracks sent shivers down her spine. She felt glued to the spot.

The huntress snorted as she mentally scolded herself for being like this. She had to have her composure at her best; it was pathetic to act like this over something that’s already passed! It’s best to accept it and move on, no sense in dwelling in the past. Even if she could have changed it, why couldn’t it have been her? She would have been able to be rid of that damn prophecy nonsense.

“Lexi?” Raina stopped next to her, sympathy written across her face as she as well stared through the gridded window.

Alex crossed her arms, gaze unbreaking, “Hm?”

“This the place you two agreed to meet if either of you got separated? Stevie told me about it a few times. You had breezed through here before heading up to headquarters?”

“Hm.” Alex hummed.

“I… I know it hurts, I miss him too.”

“Raina, you’ve said that fifty times now, everyone will miss him! I wish I could have done something other than just stand there.”

“You’ve also said that to me fifty times. Come on, it’s cold, wet, and I’m starving.” Raina pushed past her and hopped to the door of the bustling tavern, “ ‘lex?”

Alex stood there for a moment, anticipation and dread holding her in place. She always knew how to be one step ahead of everyone, but not how to be one step ahead of herself. She knew what to expect on the other side of the door but deep down she wished, hopped, begged for that expectation ending up false.

The huntress sighed and marched up to Raina, followed behind the architect as they entered the tavern. The warmth of the hearth was a sweet kiss on their cheeks as it brushed away the frigid grip of the air from outside. The interior was louder but not as boisterous as she anticipated. Many heads of strangers waggled as they sat around the pub and chattered away, some playing cards, others nursing a drink in their hands retelling wild stories of what laid beyond the village’s borders.

Alex hesitated by the doorway as Raina approached the counter, a bartender already there waiting for their order.

“Ah! Welcome.” The lips of the youthful Testificate woman curled into a grin, her Ghillagen accent thick with stressed ‘huhs’ and ‘hahs’ “What can I get you this fine evening?”

Raina glanced over her shoulder and nodded her head at Alex to ‘come over here.’ To which Alex strolled up, looking as nonchalant as ever.

Alex placed two emeralds on the counter, “Sage tea for me, and uh…”

“Oh yeah, sage as well for me please!” Raina chimed in.

The bartender nodded, “Haha, wonderful choice. Sitting at the bar?”

“Mhm!” Raina immediately hopped into a stool and began chattering with the bartender who merrily replied. A charismatic eye that couldn't help but fall for the master builder’s charm, though it was short-lived as the bartender shifted her focus away to assist other guests before returning to Raina. In the little ways, it was clear the bartender was a bit green in her position.

The huntress zoned out as glazed her eyes over the crowd, settling at different hooded figures nestled in the darker booths and tables. A testificate here, wandering trader there, shady individuals tucking themselves into the darkest corners, even the loudest of tables could escape her scrutinizing eyes. But fruitless in her scan.

“Excuse me, but have you seen a man named Steven? Steven Theroncliffe?” Alex asked the bartender, who was still chattering away with Raina.

The woman blinked. Raina gave Alex a ‘what?’ kind of look as the woman continued processing the sudden information.

“I uh...don’t know, let me ask my aunt, she knows everyone.” and the testificate woman rushed off into the backroom.

It was hardly a minute that had passed when she came back out. More of was following another testificate woman, older. Greyed hairs weaved into an elaborate braid, typical for an older testificate of status outside of one of their village strongholds.

The older testificate woman came up to Alex. Years of labor creased into her face as silvery mint eyes looked her up and down. The older woman brushed her hands on her apron, “Looking for a Theroncliffe, eh? Avellah told me. What business do you have of such a fellow? Business partners?”

“Old colleague of mine, we got separated a few weeks earlier and made precautions to return here…”

“H’llesah a’vehndeh hemnah, Alex.”

Alex’s face spread into a nostalgic grin as the woman swept her into a hug, “It’s good to see you too.”

The older woman turned to, who Alex concluded was, Avellah, “Can you find a man the same height as her...” She gestured to Alex, “...with striking purple eyes as a scar across the bridge of his nose. Dark-skinned and dark brown hair. Usually in a teal shirt.”

The younger woman’s eyes lit up, “Oh, yes actually! There’s a lad right over there.” She pointed to a corner booth. The man had escaped Alex’s sight as she had surveyed the tavern. “Green cloak, looked like he really needed a bed and maybe a laugh, he looks too serious. Was asking about someone that looked like you. But I wasn’t sure.”

Alex’s heart lurched into her throat as she stared at the hooded figure. The one that she had ignored completely. Peeling away, she set her sights on the man the bartender pointed out. It was hard to see anything of notability beneath the cloak that sat on his shoulders.

Alex nodded her head at both women, “Thank you.”

The older testificate woman stood there with a grin as she crossed her arms, watching Alex spin on her heels and approached the hunched figure in the booth.

She weaved through tables and stood before the man. A dark-skinned hand nursing a warm ale. His demeanor cold and unwelcoming as if he was trying to build a wall around himself. He appeared distant from the outside world around him. The man peeked his eyes up, and that glimmer of indigo had her heart pounding. She went pale as if she had seen a ghost as she saw that trademark of a long-healed gash across his nose.

Alex slipped into the seat right in front of him.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah?” The man croaked out; his indigo eyes shifted up to look at the red-headed woman. There were bags and a sagging emotion that clouded his eyes. He looked thinner and his beard bushy and unkempt. His shaggy hair peeked out from beneath the brim of the hood.

The man’s face morphed as she gaped at the woman in front of him. “A... Alex?” His voice was meek, nothing like the man she knew weeks prior, “By… by the gods, it is you?” It sounded hoarse but renewed.

Both adventurers lurched from their seats as they fell into each other’s arms. The slightest of hiccups came from Alex as her form trembled. There was a raw emotion that befell the two of them as the room seemed to hush. Alex nearly sobbed as his chest inhaled and exhaled, every little twitch as he held on tighter, the little huffs. The moment that seemed like forever. It was just every single little detail that showed he was still breathing. He was here. Alive! Against all the odds.

That moment seemed like forever and a day.

Steven relaxed his hold as he peeled away, “Did you miss me that much?” He nudged her playfully.

Alex furrowed her brows, “I… I saw you  _ die _ , Steven. I saw you go under and… and you didn’t surface.”

Steven’s grin faltered as the mist in her eyes was legitimate. The way she shuddered as they broke their embrace. To his best friend, he did die. He was swept away in a raging current with heavy debris raining down on him. On all odds, he should have died a cold, watery death. One Alex believed he had. Her distraughtness was genuine.

Steven opened his mouth but was immediately rammed in the side by Raina.

“OhmygodsyourealiveIcantbelieveit!AlextoldmeyouhaddiedwhenyoufellandIcriedsohardohmygooooooods!” Raina fumbled over words as she clung to Steven’s side. Steven looked to Alex, who shrugged but dove in for another hug.

Steven pried the two fellow elites off and beckoned them to sit.

“You two are in for a wild story…”

...

“...So after the entire area went dark, I was grabbed and thrown into something! I think it was a portal, I couldn’t breathe and crashed into a completely different room, an office, full of weird artifacts that I may or may not have…”

“Borrowed?”

“Yeah, borrowed.” Steven grinned as he rummaged into his pack, “I broke through a suspicious wall and found myself in a blocked off dungeon and made a run for it, dodging through mobs, though for the first few minutes they seemed afraid of me. But they got wise and I ran. Soon I saw a light and, after I squeezed myself out of the dungeon entrance, it was just a solid week of wilderness. A pack of wolves was hot on my heels as I was swarmed with mobs every night. I got very good at scaling trees by the second night to sleep since on the ground was a deathwish. Luckily I found a settlement, oriented myself, went west, and slowly made my way here.”

“Holy heck.” Raina breathed out, “Thank Jeb you’re still kicking after that. I would have keeled over at the first thing.”

Alex’s face was frowning the entire time, concern radiating off of her. “Any clue who this uh...organization was” Alex cocked her head to the side as she took another sip of her drink, “I can hardly believe an organization of that scale would be able to keep secret, not to mention recruitment. What if someone wanted to leave?”

Raina piped up, “Either they’re very convincing or selective in who’s joining.”

“Or they silence whoever tries to leave. In more ways than one.” Alex added.

“Look I’m just happy to have escaped.” Steven leaned back with a sigh, looking around at the crowd, who only got more prominent as the night drew on.

Steven waved for another set of tea for the table as he hummed and brought out an item. It was the strange cyan ball covered in tiny, precise engravings that looked like the ebbing of waves as they swirled and that looked like a school of fish there, a dolphin here, and a temple on the other side.

Alex and Raina drank in the sight of the strange orb with slacked jaws. Alex gingerly took the sphere from his hand, twisting it around and thumbing over the thin and elaborate ridges before handing it to Raina, who looked terrified like she would break the thing. The thing is, if it could last a week in the miner’s pack, it must be nearly invincible. Alex took the cyan ball from Raina and handed it back to Steven.

“Steven.” Alex swallowed, “That’s a Heart of the Sea.”

Steven and Raina spoke in unison, “A heart of a  _ what _ ?”

Alex gestured to the ball, “Heart of the Sea, a highly sought after and rare artifact. I just know it sells for a fortune on the market. Their origin is unknown, and no one has been able to replicate one.”

Raina piped up, “Then what  _ do  _ you do with it?”

Alex shrugged, “Don’t know, make something with it? I have a suspicion it includes water.”

“Then the researchers back at the Crested’s lodge will have a field day with this,” Steven concluded as he slipped the orb back into safekeeping, “So anything else?”

“Actually,” Alex said, nudging Raina to let her out of the booth, “I was hoping if you’d like to head back right now. Ee brought horses and should be able to catch an inn on the road if we go fast.”

Steven grinned and planted his hands on the table, lifting himself, “Sounds like a plan, let’s head out.”

The miner got up to leave a handful of emeralds and gold nuggets on the bar’s counter. Alex and Raina followed him as they chatted about things he needed to be caught up on. But as Steven placed the items on the bar’s counter, the ringing of bells, warning bells, resounded through the town.

Shouts of the town guard came through the windows and doors as people rushed this way and that, some holding weapons, others running for their lives.

It was a glance that Steven gave to Alex that told her all she needed to know. The three of them swirled their cloaks over their shoulders and barged outside. Alex unsheathed her sword and ran towards the west entrance as guards yelled about the open gate. Steven mirrored her actions as he materialized an iron sword from his cloak.

There was still sunlight from between the thick clouds outside, yet the drizzling of rain kept coming, a perfect safety blanket for mobs to attack in broad daylight.

They caught up with a decorated guardsman, barking orders over the chaos, a wall of undead mobs being held back by guardsmen, but they kept coming and slowly trickling in through the open gate.

Alex shoved her way forward, “Sir! Crested Elite. What happened?”

The guardsman looked shocked as he blinked, quickly resuming to his commanding authority, “Good, someone competent. The hoard was coming ’n our lad at the gate tower ain’t doing anything. But it’s pure luck to ‘ave skilled mob fighters like you here today.”

“Tell me what needs to be done.”

“We need to close the gate ‘n finish the rest of them off; they ain’t as big as they look. But they are coming. My men can hold them off easily, but they’ll get tired.”

Alex turned over her shoulder and Steven nodded in return, “We’ll take care of it.”

They all pulled away from the captain as Steven skipped up to Alex’s side, a shield also pulled from merely nothing slipped onto his off arm. Like blink, and it appeared on his arm. He was getting pretty good and hiding his items, but a nearly body-sized shield was pushing it.

“Alex,” Steven spoke up, “remember the boat?”

She rolled her eyes and gave a face, “I swear to the aether if you pull that thing again.” She hissed, rushing towards the onslaught of mobs. “Come on!”

They came to the aid of the town's guard, letting some fall back as they pushed forward. Like clockwork, every single set of soulless eyes within a ten-foot radius zoned on the two of them. Specifically Steven. All arrows, fists, blunt swords were pointed at him as he backed away. Ignoring the humans, they were assaulting originally.

“Arg! Why are they targeting me!” Steven huffed as he pushed off a trio of bumbling zombies.  
  
Alex swept to his side, “It’s ‘cause they think you’re pretty.” She dashed off to swipe at a creeper, letting it fall before it could even begin hissing.

Steven rolled his eyes, and he deflected another skeleton coming from his side, “Let’s just get this over with!”

Raina was helped up onto a roof, clumsily fumbling with a bow in her hand and aiming into the crowd of mobs. The town’s guards broke through the mobs, clearing a semi path for the two adventurers to get to the gate.

Alex pushed forwards, focusing directly on getting to the gate. The door was within her reach. Steven maneuvered his way through, nowhere near as agile and evasive as Alex as he raised his shield and shoved creatures back, slamming them with his blade and breaking their defenses with a thunk of his shield.

There was a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye. It had been there this entire fight, like a white candle in a pitch-black room placed right at the edge of your line of sight. It’s there. You know it’s there, but it feels like it’s now. The candle can only illuminate so far.

“Hrah!” Steven brought his sword down and cleaved through more skeletons and zombies. His body began to ache the more he whirled his blade into the oncoming hoard. Was the population even thinning?

One thing was for sure, he was attracting the mobs away from the others, at the expense of his hide.

The thing in the corner of his peripherals got more comprehensible as he was pushed further into an adjacent street. The onslaught of mobs refused to let up. He couldn’t see nor hear Alex anymore as he dodged another arrow. Then bam, a zombie, came on his right. At this rate, his shield was bound to break at any moment.

He sliced, cleaved, and slashed. Zombies, creepers, skeletons, spiders all alike fell at his blade. His shield looked like a pincushion of arrows and painted in zombie claw marks and spider viscera. A creeper hissed from behind him, and a quick arch slammed the mossy creature before it could detonate. He flipped his shield up instantly as another set of arrows aimed for his head.

He turned tails and kept running, dragging whatever hoard he had amassed into a tight area. A creeper jumped in his ways, white-hot and sizzling.

Steven reacted with his shield and stumbled back as the heat of the explosion was soaked up by the shield. He skids a few feet away, a circle of blackened stone bricks laid where the creeper once was. He needs to keep moving.

The miner ducked into an alleyway for a breather. It’s a dead-end.

“Crap.” He grits his teeth and skips as he backtracks, trying to regain his momentum. Only for a split second reaction as the sound of a spider came from above.

Steven thrust up his shield as a spider descended from the rooftops, landing with a thud. Two fangs sank into his shield. Steven stumbled from the sudden weight slamming into his off-arm and nearly throwing him off balance. The arachnid tore its face away as it chittered bitterly, leaving a pair of holes in its wake. He was able to shrug the arachnid off easily and kick its body away. It scrambled to its feet with an angry hiss—poison dripping from its fangs.

“Twang!” Multiple echoes of arrows came from ahead of him.

“Thunk-thump-thwap-CRACK!” The projectiles stuck into the shield, Steven caught a glimpse of his protection, still attached to his arm, falling apart.

Then came a sickening sound of an arrow landing into flesh as Steven gasped. An arrow had lodged itself in his side. In a sudden movement, the bolt snapped, letting the shaft and fletching clatter to the cobbled floor as the dull metal head, stuck in his side.

He whipped his head up to soak in a dozen mobs that had taken the place of the monsters that were there moments prior to them. He had let his guard down for only a moment and it cost him dearly. 

With tears of pain and exhaustion welling in his eyes, Steven raised his arms, ready to fight. Jostling the arrow and pulling on the cuts and scrapes that were hidden beneath his armor and clothing, and lifting the shield that only a few more hits till it would shatter into fragments.

Skeletons loaded their bows as the zombies and creepers rushed after him.

“ **_Enough._ ** ”

All the mobs skid to a halt as each one of their gazes snapped to something that stood behind him. No longer were they trained on him, their gazes focused on what was behind him.

Steven felt his heart lurch into his throat as his head flat-lined. It was that same voice from those weeks ago. Deep, gruff, resounding, growling, present, loud, overwhelming. The air grew thick and suffocating. A few of the mobs began shifting from side to side.

His fear glued Steven to his spot. The mobs stopped advancing, looking as if they were cowering. A spider hissed as it ducked between the other mobs, a few skeletons began stepping away. But the miner was glued to his spot—adrenaline eating him alive.

“ _ Leave before I smite the lot of you. _ ”

A few zombies ignored the order and resumed advancing, only for a deafening crack of lighting turned them to dust. The remaining group backtracked quickly and hightailed out of the alley. Steven wishing he could follow as the heat of the electricity died away as the freezing air his presence instilled itself in the area.

Steven spun on his heel, the remains of his broken shield clattered to the floor, and swallowed thickly.

There stood the demon of the nether, arms limp at his sides, staring at the miner with a grimace. Steven winced as he glanced into those glaringly white eyes. Wisps of misty smoke spilling like tendrils from the glow of his eyes. A fierce glow of anger as the demon collectively marched up to the miner, who stood frozen in fear.

“G-ack!”

He hardly had a moment until he was seized by the throat. Steven was lifted into the air, staring down at the demon with pleading eyes as the pressure upon his windpipe grew. Steven’s arm snapped up to cling to the demon’s wrist as he hung, writhing and kicking.

“Wh-why?” Steven managed to spit out in between gasps.

The demon sneered and squeezed for a heartbeat, a warning. Steven sputtered in effect, kicking with all his might at the demon. Jolting in pain as the arrow still sticking out of his side shifted around. Though for that short moment, Steven saw long gashes across the demon’s face. Some thin, others deep and prominent. But they looked new. His gut screamed something was off.

The demon snarled as he attempted to crush the miner’s windpipe, only for his hand to spasm in retaliation. A low growl as his grip was lessened only a smidge, but enough for Steven to hack in some air.

“Why d...did you...s-save me then? Why same me- ack!...now...” Steven coughed out as his breath was reaching capacity, “O-only t...to kill me n-now…”

For a moment, he narrowed his eyes before his face grew distant as the being looked away. Steven hacked out his lungs as the pressure was released. He still hung in the being’s grasp but winced at the feeling of bruising already forming. A second was all it took for the demon’s brows to knit together as coherency became evident in his expression. Bitter concern took hold as the being’s eyes flared as he snapped his focus back to Steven.

“ _ You are in danger. They know of your existence. I can suppress their hold for so long. _ ” The demon spoke hardly above a whisper. It was forced and distant. A polar opposite to that first command. “ _ They know what you are, who you are. Spawn. They have suspicions of your friend, the girl, being one as well. Your blood is needed for the ritual to be completed. The two of you are being hunted like a bleeding stag. _ ”

“Who’s th-they?” Steven spoke in a rasp, wincing as a tear slid down his cheek. He began to writhe in pain, his wounds stretching and aching from his prone position. That familiar pang of anxiety flashed cold in his chest.

The demon shook his head, “ _ Their patron is stronger than I anticipated and it is not the Dragon. The ritual was turned against me. The cult- _ ”

Steven’s head clipped on the ground as he was dropped. An inhuman cry echoed through the confines of the alley. It was a blur as he looked up to see Alex’s diamond sword unsheath itself in a coat of red from the demon’s abdomen. The demon staggered back with a growl, clutching at his wound as red blossomed and gushed. The splatter landing at Alex’s feet.

Alex stood defensibly in front of Steven as the demon stood up straight. The lesion, seen through the torn shirt, mending in a gorey display of ungodly healing. The white-eyed demon snarled before teleporting off in a cloud of dust.

Alex sat there panting, a wild look of disbelief on her face.

There was a thick beat of silence as Alex sat there unmoving. Before stepping away to grab Steven’s sword and kneeled at his side, inspecting the more prominent lesions.

“Hey Steven, still alive?” Alex prodded the miner’s chest to get him moving, “You saw that too right?”

“Welcome to my world.” Steven managed to cough out as Alex held out a hand for him. He took it graciously and steadied himself on his feet. “Is...everyone alright?”

Alex internally winced at how hoarse his voice was but nodded and began walking out of the alleyway, “Nobody dead, many are seriously hurt. The mobs hardly touched the buildings other than for a few burn marks,” She added, looking towards a tiny burnt crater, “They suddenly retreated right as I got to the gate tower. They left so suddenly, so I went to look for you and well, that happened.”

Steven had difficulty keeping at her pace, all of his scratches and bruises really limiting what he could do as the adrenalin was filtered out of his system.

“So uh...let’s get you patched up,” Alex said, slipped an arm around him, and let his arm rest over her shoulders, helping him along.

“How much did you hear?”

“At least that’s not an arrow to the knee.”

“Alex.”

“I’m just thankful that you’re alive, I can’t imagine what you happen-”

“Alex!”

“What?!” Alex yelled out, face flushing from the forcefulness behind it. Steve could feel her fingers twitch against his shoulder.

He let his weight drop, forcing Alex to stop and stand there, glaring at him with tired, worried eyes. She looked exhausted, smudges of gunpowder and sweat were caught in her hair. There was a fear in her eyes, one he’s never seen. One of losing him for a second time. One of seeing him within the hands of the white-eyed-demon.

“How much did you hear?”

Alex’s hard glare softened as she tore her eyes away, “I...got to the alley right as you were lifted up. I was in shock at seeing him. I couldn’t move. This feeling that surrounded him wouldn’t let me move.”

“Hm.”

“Let’s get you patched up. We can continue this later.”

Steven only nodded in response.

…

In the shadows, outside the city, a person watched, disgruntled, as the mobs fled from the western gate into the wilds. The rain was coming to a stop, and soon the sun would peek out. The person grumbled under their breath as another, much taller figure, slowly marched up to their side.

“You let him go?”

The taller one hesitated to answer, struggling to keep the glow in his eyes passive.

“The spawn wasn’t there.” He forced through gritted teeth.

The other one shook their head, “The council won’t like this, they put too many resources into getting you. Find it and bring the spawn at all costs, maybe it's little friend as well. It must be headed to the Elite’s lodge anyways. Smoke it out if you have too.”

And with that, the person turned away from the town, leaving the demon to stand there, staring as three cloaked figures exited, on horseback, making their way north. And a fuzz of static blurring his conscious as he was pulled back into the holding room.

...

_ (A.N. Thank you for reading! This chapter was a tough one to pull out. I appreciate every comment and kudo y’all give. _

_ I have a Tumblr (bi-ocelot) and an Instagram (bi_ocelot) if you want to see what I do between chapters!) _


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